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POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

POEMS  OF  PASSION 
POEMS  OP  PLEASURE 
POEMS  OP  POWER 
POEMS  OF  CHEER 
POEMS  OP  SENTIMENT 
POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 
POEMS  OP  EXPERIENCE 
THE    KINGDOM  OF   LOVE 
MAURINE 
THREE   WOMEN 
YESTERDAYS 
THE  ENGLISHMAN 

In  the  Press 

POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


BY 

ELLA   WHEELER  WILCOX 


W.  B.   CONKEY  COMPANY 

CHICAGO 
1914 

(All  rights  reserved) 


COPYRIGHTED,  1914 

BY 
ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 


AW  '  A) 

CONTENTS 


Arrow  and  Bow     ...........  9 

Husks    ...............  13 

Sisters  of  Mine      ...........  15 

Answer  ...............  17 

The  Silent  Tragedy    .......... 

The  Trinity    .............  23 

The  Well-Born    ............  25 

The  Price  He  Paid    ..........  C£7 

Meditations    .............  30 

Divorced    ..............  ($4 

The  Unwed  Mother  to  the  Wife      .....  39 

Father  and  Son      ...........  42 

The  Revealing  Angels     .........  45 

The  New  Year  Ship    ..........  49 

Thinking  of  Christ       ..........  51 

The  Traveller      ............  53 

What  Have  You  Done  ?      ........  j  55* 

The  Undertone    ............  58 

Gypsying    ..............  61 

Dance  of  the  Song  of  the  Sylphides     ....  63 

5 


6  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Birth  of  the  Orchid 67 

Stairways  and  Gardens 68 

Song  of  the  Road 70 

The  Forecast 72 

The  Faith  We  Need 75 

Christ  Crucified 78 

The  Plough 82 

The  Earth 84 

September y§7l 

October (sg' 

Two  Voices <$$ 

The  Graduates 92 

The  Leader  to  Be 95 

Disarmament 97 

The  Edict  of  the  Sex 99 

The  Spinster 102 

The  Cure W& 

The  Creed 109 

The  Heights       110 

A  Man's  Ideal 112 

The  River 113 

Unanswered  Prayers       ^-Hi^ 

Illusion 117 

The  Birth  of  Jealousy H9— 

God's  Measure       *  122 

A  Ballade  of  the  Unborn  Dead  123 


CONTENTS  7 

PAGE 

To  Men 126 

Reincarnation 129 

Recrimination 131 

The  Gulf  Stream 134 

A  Minor  Chord 135 

The  Squanderer 136 

Preparation 137 

Sirius 139 

Remembered ^ 142 

The  Call '.  143 

The  Awakening 145 

What  Love  Is ;.  '146 

Love's  Supremacy 152  v 

Protest       154 

The  Technique  of  Immortality 156 

I  Wonder       158 

Omnipotence        160 

Interlude 163  / 

Consummation 164 

Time's  Gaze JJg7 

Unsatisfied -1£9 

The  Eternal  Now 172 

The  Mill 173 

A  Wish 


ARROW  AND  BOW 

T  is  easy  to  stand  in  the  pulpit  or  in 

the  closet  to  kneel 
And  say — "God    do    this;    God    do 

that— - 

"Make  the  world  better;  relieve  the 
sorrows  of  man;  for  the  sake  of 
thy  son 
' '  Oh  forgive  all  sin. ' '     Then  having  planned  out 

God's  work,  to  feel 
Our  duty  is  done. 
It  is  easy  to  be  religious  this  way. 
Easy  to  pray. 

It  is  harder  to  stand  on  the  highway,  or  walk  in 

the  crowded  mart; 
And  say  "I  am  He;  I  am  He; 
"Mine  the  world  burden;  mine  the  sorrows  of 

men ;  mine  is  the  Christ  work 
"To  forgive  my  brother's  sin;  and  then  to  live 

the  Christ  part 
And  never  to  shirk. 
It  is  hard  for  you  and  me 
To  be  religious  this  way. 
Day  after  day. 

9 


10  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

But  God  is  no  longer  in  heaven ;  we  drove  him 

out  with  our  prayers ; 
Drove  him  out  with  our  sermons  and  creeds, 

and  our  endless  plaints  and  despairs. 
He  came  down  over  the  borders,  and  Christ  too 

came  along; 
They  are  looking  the  whole  world  over  to  see  just 

what  is  wrong. 
God  has  grown  weary   of  hearing  his  praises 

sung  on  earth ; 
And  Jesus  is  weary  of  hearing  the  story  about 

his  birth; 
And  the  way  to  win  their  favor,  that  is  surer 

than  any  other, 
Is  to  join  in  a  song  of  Brotherhood  and  praises 

of  one  another. 

No,  God  is  no  longer  in  heaven;  He  has  come 

down  on  earth  to  see 
That  nothing  is  wrong  with  the  world  He  made ; 

THE  WRONG  IS  IN  YOU  AND  ME. 
He  meant  the  earth  for  a  garden  spot,  where 

mill  and  factory  stand; 
Childhood  he  meant  for  growing  time ;  but  look 

at  the  toiling  hand! 
"Woman  was  meant  for  mother  and  mate;  now 

look  at  the  slaves  of  lust. 
And  the  good  folks  shake  their  heads  and  say 

"We  must  pray  to  God  and  trust. " 


AEEOW  AND  BOW  11 

God  has  a  billion  books  of  our  prayers  unopened 

upon  his  shelves, 
For  the  things  we  are  begging  of  him  to  do, 

He  wants  us  to  do  ourselves. 

Jehovah,  Jesus,  and  each  soul  in  space 

Are  one,  and  undividable:    Until 

We  see  God  shining  in  each  neighbor's  face 

And  find  Him  in  ourselves  and  hail  Him  there, 

Let  us  be  still. 

"What  use  is  prayer, 

How  can  we  love  the  whole,  and  not  each  part  ? 

How  worship  God,  and  harbor  in  the  heart 

Hate  of  God's  members  (for  all  men  are  that). 

Too  long  our  souls  have  sat, 

Like  poor  blind  beggars  at  the  door  of  God. 

He  never  made  a  beggar — We  are  kings! 

Let  us  rise  up,  for  it  is  time  we  trod 

The  mountain-tops;  time  that  we  did  the  things 

We  have  so  long  asked  God  to  do. 

He  waits  for  you 

To  look  deep  in  your  brother's  eyes  and  see 

The  God  within; 

To  hear  you  say  "Lo,  thou  art  He;  Lo,  thou 

art  He." 

This  is  the  only  way  to  end  all  sin. 
The  difficult,  one  way. 

A  prayer  without  a  deed  is  an  arrow  without  a 
bow-string; 


12  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

A  deed  without  a  prayer  is  a  bow-string  without 

an  arrow. 
The  heart  of  a  man  should  be  like  a  quiver  full 

of  arrows, 
And  the  hand  of  a  man  should  be  like  a  strong 

bow  strung  for  action. 
The  heart  of  a  man  should  keep  his  arrows  ever 

ascending, 
And  the  hand  and  the  mind  of  a  man  should 

keep  at  a  work  unending. 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX. 


HUSKS 

HE  looked  at  her  neighbour's  house  in 

the  light  of  the  waning  day — 
A  shower  of  rice  on  the  steps,  and 
the  shreds  of  a  bride's  bouquet. 
And  then  she  drew  the  shade,  to  shut 

out  the   growing  gloom, 

But  she  shut  it  into  her  heart  instead.   (Was  that 
a  voice  in  the  room?) 

1  My  neighbour  is  sad,'  she  sighed,   'like  the 

mother  bird  who  sees 
The  last  of  her  brood  fly  out  of  the  nest  to  make 

its  home  in  the  trees' — 
And  then  in  a  passion  of  tears — '  But,  oh,  to  be 

sad  like  her: 
Sad  for  a  joy  that  has  come  and  gone  !  '    (Did 

some  one  speak,  or  stir?) 
She  looked  at  her  faded  hands,  all  burdened  with 

costly  rings; 

13 


14  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

She  looked  on  her  widowed  home,  all  burdened 

with  priceless  things. 
She  thought  of  the  dead  years  gone,  of  the  empty 

years  ahead — 
(Yes,  something  stirred  and  something  spake,  and 

this  was  what  it  said:) 

'  The  voice  of  the  Might  Have  Been  speaks  here 

through  the  lonely  dusk; 
Life  offered  the  fruits  of  love;  you  gathered  only 

the  husk. 
There  are  jewels  ablaze  on  your  breast  where 

never  a  child  has  slept.' 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  ringed  old  hands, 

and  wept  and  wept  and  wept. 


SISTEES  OF  MINE  15 


SISTERS  OF  MINE 

|ISTERS,  sisters  of  mine,  have  we  done 

what  we  could 
In  all  the  old  ways,  through  all  the 

new  days, 
To  better  the  race  and  to  make  life 

sweet  and  good? 
Have  we  played  the  full  part  that  was  ours  in 

the  start, 
Sisters  of  mine? 

Sisters,  sisters  of  mine,  as  we  hurry  along 
To  a  larger  world,  with  our  banners  unfurled, 
The  battle-cry  on  lips  where  once  was  Love 's  old 

song, 

Are  we  leaving  behind  better  things  than  we  find, 
Sisters  of  mine? 

Sisters,  sisters  of 'mine,  through  the  march  in  the 
street, 


16  POEMS   OF  PROBLEMS 

Through  turmoil  and  din,  without  and  within, 
As  we  gain  something  big  do  we  lose  something 

sweet  ? 
In  the  growth  of  our  might  is  our  grace  lost  to 

sight  ? 

As  new  powers  unfold  do  we  love  as  of  old, 
Sisters  of  mine? 


ANSWER  17 


ANSWER 

WELL  have  we  done  the  old  tasks! 

in  the  old,  old  ways  of  earth. 
We  have  kept  the  house  in  order,  we 

have  given  the  children  birth; 
And  our  sons  went  out  with  their 

fathers,  and  left  us  alone  at  the 

hearth  ; 


We  have  cooked  the  meats  for  their  table;  we 
have  woven  their  cloth  at  the  loom; 

We  have  pulled  the  weeds  from  their  gardens, 
and  kept  the  flowers  in  bloom; 

And  then  we  have  sat  and  waited,  alone  in  a 
silent  room. 

We  have  borne  all  the  pains  of  travail  in  giving 

life  to  the  race; 
We  have  toiled  and  saved,  for  the  masters,  and 

helped  them  to  power  and  place; 


18  POEMS   OF  PEOBLEMS 

And  when  we  asked  for  a  pittance,  they  gave  it 
with  grudging  grace. 

On  the  bold,  bright  face  of  the  dollar  all  the  evils 

of  earth  are  shown. 
We  are  weary  of  love  that  is  barter,  and  of  virtue 

that  pines  alone; 
We  are  out  in  the  world  with  the  masters :  we  are 

finding  and  claiming  our  own! 


THE  SILENT  TRAGEDY  19 


THE  SILENT  TRAGEDY 

|  HE  deepest  tragedies  of  life  are  not 
Put  into  books,  or  acted  on  the  stage. 
Nay,  they  are  lived  in  silence,  by  tense 

hearth. 
In  homes,  among  dull,  unperceiving 

kin, 
And  thoughtless  friends,  who  make  a  whip  of 

words 
Wherewith  to  lash  these  hearts,  and  call  it  wit. 

There  is  a  tragedy  lived  everywhere 
In  Christian  lands,  by  an  increasing  horde 
Of  women  martyrs  to  our  social  laws. 
Women  whose  hearts  cry  out  for  motherhood ; 
Women  whose  bosoms  ache  for  little  heads; 
Women  God  meant  for  mothers,  but  whose  lives 
Have  been  restrained,  restricted,  and  denied 
Their  natural  channels,  till  at  last  they  stand 
Unmated  and  alone,  by  that  sad  sea 
Whose  slow  receding  tide  returns  no  more. 


20  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

Men  meet  great  sorrows ;  but  no  man  can  grasp 
The  depth,  and  height,  of  such  a  grief  as  this. 

The  call  of  Fatherhood  is  from  man's  brain. 
Man  cannot  know  the  answer  to  that  call 
Save  as  a  woman  tells  him.    But  to  her 
The  call  of  Motherhood  is  from  the  soul, 
The  brain,  the  body.    She  is  like  a  plant 
Which  buds  and  blossoms  only  to  bear  fruit. 
Man  is  the  pollen,  carried  by  the  wind 
Of  accident,  or  impulse,  or  desire; 
And  then  his  role  of  fatherhood  is  played. 
Her  threefold  knowledge  of  maternity, 
Through  three  times  three  great  months,  is  hers 
alone. 

Man  as  an  egotist  is  wounded  when 

He  is  not  father.    Woman  when  denied 

The  all-embracing  role  of  motherhood 

Rebels  with  her  whole  being.    Oftentimes 

Rebellion  finds  its  only  utterance 

In  shattered  nerves,  and  lack  of  self-control ; 

Which  gives  the  merry  world  its  chance  to  cry 

'  Old  maids  are  queer/ 

In  far  off  Eastern  lands 


THE  SILENT  TRAGEDY  21 

They  think  of  God  as  Mother  to  the  race; 
Father  and  Mother  of  the  Universe. 
And  mayhap  this  is  why  they  make  their  girls 
"Wives  prematurely,  mothers  over  young; 
Hoping  to  please  their  Mother  God  this  way. 
Since  everywhere  in  Nature  sex  is  shown 
For  procreative  uses,  they  contend 
Sterility  is  sinful.     (Save  when  one 
Chooses  a  life  of  Saintship  here  on  earth, 
And  so  conserves  all  forces  to  that  end.) 

Here  in  the  West,  our  God  is  Masculine; 
And  while  we  say  He  bade  a  Virgin  bring 
His  Son  to  birth,  we  think  of  Him  as  One 
Placing  false  values  on  forced  continence — 
Preparing  heavens  for  those  who  live  that  life — 
And  hells  for  those  who  stray  by  thought  or  act 
From  the  unnatural  path  our  laws  have  made. 

Mother  of  Christ,  thou  being  woman,  thou 
Knowing  all  depths  within  the  woman  heart, 
All  joy,  all  pain,  oh  send  the  world  more  light. 
Enlarge  our  sympathies;  and  let  our  minds 
Turn  from  achievements  of  material  things 
To  contemplation  of  Eternal  truths. 


22  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Space  throbs  with  egos,  waiting  for  rebirth; 
And  mother-hearted  women  fill  the  earth. 
Mother  of  Christ,  show  us  the  way  to  thin 
The  ranks  of  childless  women,  without  sin. 


THE  TRINITY  23 


THE  TRINITY 

rCH  may  be  done  with  the  world  we 
are  in, 

Much  with  the  race  to  better  it; 

We  can  unfetter  it, 

Free    it    from    chains    of    the    old 

traditions ; 

Broaden  its  viewpoint  of  virtue  and  sin; 
Change  its  conditions 
Of  labour  and  wealth; 

And  open  new  roadways  to  knowledge  and  health. 
Tet  some  things  ever  must  stay  as  they  are 
While  the  sea  has  its  tide  and  the  sky  has  its  star. 
A  man  and  a  woman  with  love  between, 
Loyal  and  tender  and  true  and  clean, 
Nothing  better  has  been  or  can  be 
Than  just  those  three. 

Woman  may  alter  the  first  great  plan. 
Daughters  and  sisters  and  mothers, 
May  stalk  with  their  brothers 
Forth  from  their  homes  into  noisy  places 
Fit  (and  fit  only)  for  masculine  man. 


24  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

Marring  their  graces 
With  conflict  and  strife 
To  widen  the  outlook  of  all  human  life. 
Yet  some  things  ever  must  stay  as  they  are 
While  the  sea  has  its  tide  and  the  sky  has  its  star. 
A  man  and  a  woman  with  love  that  strengthens 
And  gathers  new  force  as  its  earth  way  lengthens ; 
Nothing  better  by  God  is  given 
This  side  of  heaven. 


Science  may  show  us  a  wonderful  vast 

Secret  of  life  and  of  breeding  it; 

Man  by  the  heeding  it 

Out  of  earth's  chaos  may  bring  a  new  order. 

Off  with  old  systems,  old  laws  may  be  cast. 

What  now  seems  the  border 

Of  license  in  creeds, 

May  then  be  the  centre  of  thoughts  and  of  deeds. 

Yet  some  things  ever  must  stay  as  they  are 

While  the  sea  has  its  tide  and  the  sky  has  its  star. 

A  man  and  a  woman  and  love  undefiled 

And  the  look  of  the  two  in  the  face  of  a  child, — 

Oh,  the  joys  of  this  world  have  their  changing 

ways, 

But  this  joy  stays. 
Nothing  better  on  earth  can  be 
Than  just  those  three. 


THE   WELL-BORN  25 


THE  WELL-BORN 

|0  many  people — people — in  the  world; 

So  few  great  souls,  love  ordered,  well 
begun, 

In  answer  to  the  fertile  mother  need ! 
So  few  who  seem 

The  image  of  the  Maker's  mortal  dream; 
So  many  born  of  mere  propinquity — 
Of  lustful  habit,  or  of  accident. 
Their  mothers  felt 

No  mighty,  all-compelling  wish  to  see 
Their  bosoms  garden-places 
Abloom  with  flower  faces; 
No  tidal  wave  swept  o'er  them  with  its  flood; 
No  thrill  of  flesh  or  heart ;  no  leap  of  blood ; 
No  glowing  fire,  flaming  to  white  desire 
For  mating  and  for  motherhood: 
Yet  they  bore  children. 
God!  how  mankind  misuses  thy  command, 
To  populate  the  earth! 
How  low  is  brought  high  birth ! 


26  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

How  low  the  woman;  when,  inert  as  spawn 

Left  on  the  sands  to  fertilise, 

She  is  the  means  through  which  the  race  goes  on. 

Not  so  the  first  intent. 

Birth,  as  the  Supreme  Mind  conceived  it,  meant 

The  clear,  imperious  call  of  mate  to  mate 

And  the  clear  answer.    Only  thus  and  then 

Are  fine,  well-ordered,  and  potential  lives 

Brought  into  being.    Not  by  Church  or  State 

Can  birth  be  made  legitimate, 

Unless 

Love  in  its  fulness  bless. 

Creation  so  ordains  its  lofty  laws 

That  man,  while  greater  in  all  other  things, 

Is  lesser  in  the  generative  cause. 

The  father  may  be  merely  man,  the  male; 

Yet  more  than  female  must  the  mother  be. 

The  woman  who  would  fashion 

Souls,  for  the  use  of  earth  and  angels  meet, 

Must  entertain  a  high  and  holy  passion. 

Not  rank,  or  wealth,  or  influence  of  kings 

Can  give  a  soul  its  dower 

Of  majesty  and  power, 

Unless  the  mother  brings 

Great  love  to  that  great  hour. 


THE  PRICE   HE  PAID  27 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID 

SAID  I  would  have  my  fling, 

And  do  what  a  young  man  may 
And  I  didn't  believe  a  thing 

That  the  parsons  have  to  say. 
I  didn't  believe  in  a  God 
That  gives  us  blood  like  fire, 
Then  flings  us  into  hell  because 
We  answer  the  call  of  desire. 

And  I  said:  ' Religion  is  rot, 

And  the  laws  of  the  world  are  nil; 
For  the  bad  man  is  he  who  is  caught 

And  cannot  foot  his  bill. 
And  there  is  no  place  called  hell ; 

And  heaven  is  only  a  truth 
When  a  man  has  his  way  with  a  maid, 

In  the  fresh  keen  hour  of  youth. 

And  money  can  buy  us  grace, 

If  it  rings  on  the  plate  of  the  church: 
And  money  can  neatly  erase 

Each  sign  of  a  sinful  smirch.' 


28  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

For  I  saw  men  everywhere, 

Hotfooting  the  road  of  vice; 
And  women  and  preachers  smiled  on  them 

As  long  as  they  paid  the  price. 

So  I  had  my  joy  of  life : 

I  went  the  pace  of  the  town ; 
And  then  I  took  me  a  wife, 

And  started  to  settle  down. 
I  had  gold  enough  and  to  spare 

For  all  of  the  simple  joys 
That  belong  with  a  house  and  a  home 

And  a  brood  of  girls  and  boys. 

I  married  a  girl  with  health 

And  virtue  and  spotless  fame. 
I  gave  in  exchange  my  wealth 

And  a  proud  old  family  name. 
And  I  gave  her  the  love  of  a  heart 

Grown  sated  and  sick  of  sin! 
My  deal  with  the  devil  was  all  cleaned  up, 

And  the  last  bill  handed  in. 

She  was  going  to  bring  me  a  child, 
And  when  in  labour  she  cried 

With  love  and  fear  I  was  wild — 
But  now  I  wish  she  had  died. 


THE  PRICE   HE  PAID  29 

For  the  son  she  bore  me  was  blind 
And  crippled  and  weak  and  sore! 

And  his  mother  was  left  a  wreck. 
It  was  so  she  settled  my  score. 

I  said  I  must  have  my  fling, 

And  they  knew  the  path  I  would  go ; 
Yet  no  one  told  me  a  thing 

Of  what  I  needed  to  know. 
Folks  talk  too  much  of  a  soul 

From  heavenly  joys  debarred — 
And  not  enough  of  the  babes  unborn, 

By  the  sins  of  their  fathers  scarred. 


30  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEM& 

MEDITATIONS 

HIS 

WAS  so  proud  of  you  last  night,  dear 

girl, 
While  man  with  man  was  striving 

for  your  smile. 
You  never  lost  your  head,  nor  once 

dropped  down 
From  your  high  place 
As  queen  in  that  gay  whirl. 

(It  takes  more  poise  to  wear  a  little  crown 

With  modesty  and  grace 

Than  to  adorn  the  lordlier  thrones  of  earth.) 

You  seem  so  free  from  artifice  and  wile: 
And  in  your  eyes  I  read 
Encouragement  to  my  unspoken  thought. 
My  heart  is  eloquent  with  words  to  plead 
Its  cause  of  passion;  but  my  questioning  mind, 
Knowing  how  love  is  blind, 
Dwells  on  the  pros  and  cons,  and  God  knows 
what. 


MEDITATIONS  31 

My  heart  cries  with  each  beat, 

'She  is  so  beautiful,  so  pure,  so  sweet, 

So  more  than  dear.' 

And  then  I  hear 

The    voice    of    Reason,     asking:     'Would    she 

meet 

Life's  common  duties  with  good  common  sense? 
Could  she  bear  quiet  evening  at  your  hearth, 
And  not  be  sighing  for  gay  scenes  of  mirth? 
If,  some  great  day,  love's  mighty  recompense 
For  chastity  surrendered  came  to  her, 
If  she  felt  stir 

Beneath  her  heart  a  little  pulse  of  life, 
"Would  she  rejoice  with  holy  pride  and  wonder, 
And  find  new  glory  in  the  name  of  wife? 
Or  would  she  plot  with  hell,  and  seek  to  plunder 
Love's  sanctuary,  and  cast  away  its  treasure, 
That    she    might   keep    her    freedom    and   her 

pleasure  ? 

Could  she  be  loyal  mate  and  mother  dutiful? 
Or  is  she  only  some  bright  hothouse  bloom, 
Seedless  and  beautiful, 
Meant  just  for  decoration,  and  for  show?' 
Alone  here  in  my  room, 
I  hear  this  voice  of  Eeason.    M£  poor  heart 


32  POEMS   OF  PROBLEMS 

Has  ever  but  one  answer  to  impart, 
'I  love  her  so/ 

HERS 

After  the  ball  last  night,  when  I  came  home 
I  stood  before  my  mirror,  and  took  note 
Of  all  that  men  call  beautiful.     Delight, 
Keen,  sweet  delight,  possessed  me,  when  I  saw 
My  own  reflection  smiling  on  me  there, 
Because   your   eyes,    through   all   the    swirling 

hours, 

And  in  your  slow  good-night,  had  made  a  fact 
Of  what  before  I  fancied  might  be  so; 
Yet  knowing  how  men  lie,  by  look  and  act, 
I  still  had  doubted.    But  I  doubt  no  more, 
I  know  you  love  me,  love  me.     And  I  feel 
Your  satisfaction  in  my  comeliness. 

Beauty  and  youth,  good  health  and  willing  mind, 
A  spotless  reputation,  and  a  heart 
Longing  for  mating  and  for  motherhood, 
And  lips  unsullied  by  another's  kiss — 
These  are  the  riches  I  can  bring  to  you. 

But  as  I  sit  here,  thinking  of  it  all 

In  the  clear  light  of  morning,  sudden  fear 

Has  seized  upon  me.  What  has  been  your  past  ? 


MEDITATIONS  33 

From  out  the  jungle  of  old  reckless  years, 
May  serpents  crawl  across  our  path  some  day 
And  pierce  us  with  their  fangs?   Oh,  I  am  not 
A  prude  or  bigot ;  and  I  have  not  lived 
A  score  and  three  full  years  in  ignorance 
Of  human  nature.     Much  I  can  condone; 
For  well  I  know  our  kinship  to  the  earth 
And  all  created  things.    Why,  even  I 
Have  felt  the  burden  of  virginity, 
When  flowers  and  birds  and  golden  butterflies 
In  early  spring  were  mating;  and  I  know 
How  loud  that  call  of  sex  must  sound  to  man 
Above  the  feeble  protest  of  the  world. 
But  I  can  hear  from  depths  within  my  soul 
The  voices  of  my  unborn  children  cry 
For  rightful  heritage.     (May  God  attune 
The  souls  of  men,  that  they  may  hear  and  heed 
That  plaintive  voice  above  the  call  of  sex; 
And  may  the  world's  weak  protest  swell  into 
A  thunderous  diapason — a  demand 
For  cleaner  fatherhood.) 

Oh,  love,  come  near; 
Look  in  my  eyes,  and  say  I  need  not  fear. 


34  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


DIVORCED 

|HINKING  of  one  thing  all  day  long, 

at  night 
I  fall  asleep,  brain  weary  and  heart 

sore; 

But  only  for  a  little  while.    At  three, 
Sometimes  at  two  o'clock,  I  wake  and  lie, 
Staring  out  into  darkness ;  while  my  thoughts 
Begin  the  weary  treadmill-toil  again, 
From  that  white  marriage  morning  of  our  youth 
Down  to  this  dreadful  hour. 

I  see  your  face 

Lit  with  the  lovelight  of  the  honeymoon; 
I  hear  your  voice,  that  lingered  on  my  name 
As  if  it  loyed  each  letter;  and  I  feel 
The  cling  of  your  arms  about  my  form, 
Your  kisses  on  my  cheek — and  long  to  break 
The  anguish  of  such  memories  with  tears, 
But  cannot  weep;  the  fountain  has  run  dry. 
We  were  so  young,  so  happy,  and  so  full 


DIVOECED  35 

Of  keen  sweet  joy  of  life.    I  had  no  wish 
Outside  your  pleasure;  and  you  loved  me  so 
That  when  I  sometimes  felt  a  woman's  need 
For  more  serene  expression  of  man's  love 
(The  need  to  rest  in  calm  affection's  bay 
And  not  sail  ever  on  the  stormy  main), 
Yet  would  I  rouse  myself  to  your  desire; 
Meet  ardent  kiss  with  kisses  just  as  warm; 
So  nothing  I  could  give  should  be  denied. 

And  then  our  children  came.    Deep  in  my  soul, 
From  the  first  hour  of  conscious  motherhood, 
I  knew  I  should  conserve  myself  for  this 
Most  holy  office;  knew  God  meant  it  so. 
Yet  even  then,  I  held  your  wishes  first; 
And  by  my  double  duties  lost  the  bloom 
And  freshness  of  my  beauty;  and  beheld 
A  look  of  disapproval  in  your  eyes. 
But  with  the  coming  of  our  precious  child, 
The  lover 's  smile,  tinged  with  the  father 's  pride, 
Returned  again ;  and  helped  to  make  me  strong ; 
And  life  was  very  sweet  for  both  of  us. 

Another,  and  another  birth,  and  twice 

The  little  white  hearse  paused  beside  our  door 


36  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

And  took  away  some  portion  of  my  youth 
With  my  sweet  babies.   At  the  first  you  seemed 
To  suffer  with  me,  standing  very  near; 
But  when  I  wept  too  long,  you  turned  away. 
And  I  was  hurt,  not  realising  then 
My  grief  was  selfish.    I  could  see  the  change 
Which  motherhood  and  sorrow  made  in  me; 
And  when  I  saw  the  change  that  came  to  you, 
Saw  how  your  eyes  looked  past  me  when  you 

talked, 
And  when  I  missed  the  love  tone  from  your 

voice, 

I  did  that  foolish  thing  weak  women  do, 
Complained  and  cried,  accused  you  of  neglect, 
And  made  myself  obnoxious  in  your  sight. 


And  often,  after  you  had  left  my  side, 
Alone  I  stood  before  my  mirror,  mad 
With  anger  at  my  pallid  cheeks,  my  dull 
Unlighted  eyes,  my  shrunken  mother-breasts, 
And  wept,  and  wept,  and  faded  more  and  more. 
How  could  I  hope  to  win  back  wandering  love, 
And  make  new  flames  in  dying  embers  leap, 
By  such  ungracious  means? 


DIVOECED  37 

And  then  She  came, 
Firm-bosomed,  round  of  cheek,  with  such  young 

eyes, 

And  all  the  ways  of  youth.    I  who  had  died 
A  thousand  deaths,  in  waiting  the  return 
Of  that  old  love-look  to  your  face  once  more, 
Died  yet  again  and  went  straight  into  hell 
When  I  beheld  it  come  at  her  approach. 

My  God,  my  God,  how  have  I  borne  it  all! 
Yet  since  she  had  the  power  to  wake  that  look — 
The  power  to  sweep  the  ashes  from  your  heart 
Of  burned-out  love  of  me,  and  light  new  fires, 
One  thing  remained  for  me — to  let  you  go. 
I  had  no  wish  to  keep  the  empty  frame 
From    which    the   priceless   picture    had   been 

wrenched. 

Nor  do  I  blame  you ;  it  was  not  your  fault : 
You  gave  me  all  that  most  men  can  give — love 
Of  youth,  of  beauty,  and  of  passion;  and 
I  gave  you  full  return;  my  womanhood 
Matched  well  your  manhood.  Yet  had  you  grown 

in, 

Or  old,  and  unattractive  from  some  cause 
(Less  close  than  was  my  service  unto  you), 


38  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

I  should  have  clung  the  tighter  to  you,  dear ; 
And  loved  you,  loved  you,  loved  you  more  and 
more. 

I  grow  so  weary  thinking  of  these  things; 
Day  in,  day  out;  and  half  the  awful  nights. 


THE  UNWED  MOTHER  TO  THE  WIFE     39 


THE   UNWED   MOTHER   TO   THE   WIFE 

HAD  been  almost  happy  for  an  hour, 
Lost  to  the  world  that  knew  me  in 

the  park 
Among  strange  faces ;  while  my  little 

girl 
Leaped  with  the  squirrels,  chirruped  with  the 

birds 

And  with  the  sunlight  glowed.    She  was  so  dear, 
So  beautiful,  so  sweet;  and  for  the  time 
The  rose  of  love,  shorn  of  its  thorn  of  shame, 
Bloomed   in   my   heart.       Then   suddenly   you 

passed. 

I  sat  alone  upon  the  public  bench; 
You,  with  your  lawful  husband,  rode  in  state; 
And  when  your  eyes  fell  on  me  and  my  child, 
They  were  not  eyes,  but  daggers,  poison  tipped. 

God!  how  good  women  slaughter  with  a  look! 
And,  like  cold  steel,  your  glance  cut  through 
my  heart, 


40  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Struck  every  petal  from  the  rose  of  love 
And  left  the  ragged  stalk  alive  with  thorns. 

My  little  one  came  running  to  my  side 
And  called  me  Mother.    It  was  like  a  blow 
Between  the  eyes ;  and  made  me  sick  with  pain. 
And  then  it  seemed  as  if  each  bird  and  breeze 
Took  up  the  word,  and  changed  its  syllables 
From  Mother  into  Magdalene;  and  cried 
My  shame  to  all  the  world. 

It  was  your  eyes 

Which  did  all  this.    But  listen  now  to  me 
(Not  you  alone,  but  all  the  barren  wives 
Who,  like  you,  flaunt  their  virtue  in  the  face 
Of  fallen  women)  :  I  do  chance  to  know 
The  crimes  you  think  are  hidden  from  all  men 
(Save  one  who  took  your  gold  and  sold  his  skill 
And  jeopardized  his  name  for  your  base  ends). 

I  know  how  you  have  sunk  your  soul  in  sense 
Like  any  wanton;  and  refused  to  bear 
The  harvest  of  your  pleasure-planted  seed; 
I  know  how  you  have  crushed  the  tender  bud 
Which  held  a  soul;  how  you  have  blighted  it; 


THE  UNWED  MOTHER  TO  THE  WIFE  41 

And  made  the  holy  miracle  of  birth 

A  wicked  travesty  of  God's  design. 

Yea,  many  buds,  which  might  be  blossoms  now 

And  beautify  your  selfish,  arid  life, 

Have  been  destroyed,  because  you  chose  to  keep 

The  aimless  freedom,  and  the  purposeless, 

Self-seeking  liberty  of  childless  wives. 

I  was  an  untaught  girl.    By  nature  led, 

By  love  and  passion  blinded,  I  became 

An  unwed  mother.    You,  an  honoured  wife, 

Refuse  the  crown  of  motherhood,  defy 

The  laws  of  nature,  and  fling  baby  souls 

Back  in  the  face  of  God.    And  yet  you  dare 

Call  me  a  sinner,  and  yourself  a  saint ; 

And  all  the  world  smiles  on  you,  and  its  doors 

Swing  wide  at  your  approach. 

I  stand  outside. 

Surely  there  must  be,  higher  courts  than  earth, 
Where  you  and  I  will  some  day  meet  and  be 
Weighed  by  a  larger  justice. 


42  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


FATHER  AND  SON 

|Y  grand-dame,  vigorous  at  eighty-one, 
Delights  in  talking  of  her  only  son, 
My  gallant  father,  long  since  dead 
and  gone. 
'Ah,  but  he  was  the  lad!' 
She  says,  and  sighs,  and  looks  at  me  askance. 
How  well  I  read  the  meaning  of  that  glance — 
'Poor  son  of  such  a  dad; 
Poor  weakling,  dull  and  sad.' 
I  could,  but  would  not,  tell  her  bitter  truth 
About  my  father's  youth. 

She  says :  'Your  father  laughed  his  way  through 

earth : 

He  laughed  right  in  the  doctor's  face  at  birth, 
Such  joy  of  life  he  had,  such  founts  of  mirth. 

Ah,  what  a  lad  was  he ! ' 
And  then  she  sighs.     I  feel  her  silent  blame, 
Because  I  brought  her  nothing  but  his  name. 

Because  she  does  not  see 

Her  worshipped  son  in  me. 


FATHER  AND  SON  43 

I  could,  but  would  not,  speak  in  my  defence 
Anent  the  difference. 

She  says:   'He  won  all  prizes  in  his  time; 
He  overworked,  and  died  before  his  prime: 
At  high  ambition's  door  I  lay  the  crime. 

Ah,  what  a  lad  he  was!' 
"Well,  let  her  rest  in  that  deceiving  thought, 
Of  what  avail  to  say,  'His  death  was  brought 

By  broken  sexual  laws, 

The  ancient  sinful  cause.' 
I  could,  but  would  not,  tell  the  good  old  dame 
The  story  of  his  shame. 

I  could  say:   'I  am  crippled,  weak,  and  pale, 
Because  my  father  was  an  unleashed  male. 
Because  he  ran  so  fast,  I  halt  and  fail. 

(Ah,  yes,  he  was  the  lad!) 
Because  he  drained  each  cup  of  sense-delight 
I  must  go  thirsting,  thirsting,  day  and  night. 

Because  he  was  joy-mad, 

I  must  be  always  sad. 

Because  he  learned  no  law  of  self-control, 
I  am  a  blighted  soul.' 

Of  what  avail  to  speak  and  spoil  her  joy. 


44  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

Better  to  see  her  disapproving  eyes, 
And  silent,  hear  her  say,  between  her  sighs, 
1  Ah,  but  he  was  the  boy!' 


THE  EEVEALING  ANGELS  45 


THE  REVEALING  ANGELS 

|UDDENLY  and  without  warning  they 

came — 

The  Revealing  Angels  came. 
Suddenly     and     simultaneously, 

through  city  streets, 
Through  quiet  lanes  and  country  roads  they 

walked. 

They  walked  crying :  '  God  has  sent  us  to  find 
The  vilest  sinners  of  earth. 
We  are  to  bring  them  before  Him,  before  the 
Lord  of  Life.' 

Their  voices  were  like  bugles; 
And  then  all  war,  all  strife, 
And  all  the  noises  of  the  world  grew  still; 
And  no  one  talked ; 

And  no  one  toiled,  but  many  strove  to  flee  away. 
Robbers  and  thieves,  and  those  sunk  in  drunk 
enness  and  crime, 
Men  and  women  of  evil  repute, 


46  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

And  mothers  with  fatherless  children  in  their 

arms,  all  strove  to  hide. 
But  the  Revealing  Angels  passed  them  by, 
Saying:  'Not  you,  not  you. 
Another  day,  when  we  shall  come  again 
Unto  the  haunts  of  men, 
Then  we  will  call  your  names; 
But  God  has  asked  us  first  to  bring  to  him 
Those  guilty  of  greater  shames 
Than  lust,  or  theft,  or  drunkenness,  or  vice — 
Yea,  greater  than  murder  done  in  passion, 
Or  self-destruction  done  in  dark  despair. 
Now  in  His  Holy  Name  we  call: 
Come  one  and  all 
Come  forth;  reveal  your  faces.' 

Then  through  the  awful  silence  of  the  world, 
Where  noise  had  ceased,  they  came — 
The  sinful  hosts. 

They  came  from  lowly  and  from  lofty  places, 
Some  poorly  clad,  but  many  clothed  like  queens ; 
They  came  from  scenes  of  revel  and  from  toil; 
From  haunts  of  sin,  from  palaces,  from  homes, 
From  boudoirs,  and  from  churches. 
They  came  like  ghosts — 


THE  REVEALING  ANGELS  47 

The  vast  brigades  of  women  who  had  slain 

Their  helpless,  unborn  children.  With  them 
trailed 

Lovers  and  husbands  who  had  said,  'Do  this/ 

And  those  who  helped  for  hire. 

They  stood  before  the  Angels — before  the  Re 
vealing  angels  they  stood. 

And  they  heard  the  Angels  say; 

And  all  the  listening  world  heard  the  Angels 
say; 

' These  are  the  vilest  sinners  of  all; 

For  the  Lord  of  Life  made  sex  that  birth  might 
come; 

Made  sex  and  its  keen  compelling  desire 

To  fashion  bodies  wherein  souls  might  go 

From  lower  planes  to  higher, 

Until  the  end  is  reached  (which  is  Beginning). 

They  have  stolen  the  costly  pleasures  of  the 
senses 

And  refused  to  pay  God's  price. 

They  have  come  together,  these  men  and  these 
women, 

As  male  and  female  they  have  come  together 

In  the  great  creative  act. 


48  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

They  have  invited  souls,  and  then  flung  them 

out  into  space; 

They  have  made  a  jest  of  God's  design. 
All  other  sins  look  white  beside  this  sinning; 
All  other  sins  may  be  condoned,  forgiven; 
All  other  sinners  may  be  cleansed  and  shriven; 
Not  these,  not  these. 
Pass  on,  and  meet  God's  eyes.' 

The  vast  brigade  moved  forward,  and  behind 

them  walked  the  Angels, 
Walked  the  sorrowful  Revealing  Angels. 


THE   NEW    YEAR    SHIP 


THE  NEW  YEAR  SHIP 

JCROSS  wide  seas  of  space,  from  God's 

own  bay, 
Straight  to   the   shores  of  earth  it 

ploughed  its  way, 
And  came,  full  rigged,  to  anchor  in 

the  night. 

Its  sails  lie  clean  against  the  morning  light; 
And  on  the  bridge  old  Captain  Time  is  standing, 
Proud  of  the  brave  new  craft  he  is  commanding. 

My  heart  runs  dockward,  crying,  'Ship  ahoy! 
What  cargo  do  you  carry — pain  or  joy? 
Before  the  crew  of  Days  shall  come  ashore, 
Bearing  each  one  his  portion  of  your  store — 
Tell  me  what  things  are  hidden  in  your  hold?' 

There  is  no  answer.    Yet  I  do  make  bold 
To  prophesy  some  things  Time  keeps  for  me 
In  that  great  New  Year  ship. 


50  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

First  there  will  be 

Keen  Winter  mornings,  when  the  sun  and  frost 
Wage    bloodless    battle,     with    their    daggers 

crossed. 

The  wind  will  act  as  second  for  the  sun, 
While  trees  stand  steadfast  for  the  other  one. 
Ah !  such  rare  sport ! 

There  will  be  Spring's  return, 
When  in  old  hearts  young  blood  again  will  burn, 
And  young  buds  deck  old  trees;  while  in  the 

skies 

Vast  dawns  and  sunsets  startle  and  surprise 
A  waking  world  to  wonder. 

There  will  come 

Roses  so  beauteous  they  strike  one  dumb; 
(A  perfect  rose  is  beauty's  final  word!) 
While  in  their  scent  old  memories  are  stirred 
Of  other  scenes  and  times. 

Then  Autumn's  brush 

Shall  paint  the  earth  before  the  final  hush 
That  means  a  dying  year.    Ah!  Captain  Time, 
You  cannot  cheat  me  of  these  gifts  sublime, 
(And  countless  others  that  I  have  not  told). 
Whatever  else  you  bring  me — or  withhold. 


THINKING   OF  CHRIST  51 


THINKING  OF  CHKIST 

HINKING  of  Christ,  and  hearing  what 

men  say 
Anent  His  second  coming  some  near 

day; 

Unto  the  me  of  Me,  I  turned  to  ask, 
What  can  we  do  for  Him,  and  by  what  task, 
Or  through  what  sacrifice,  can  we  proclaim 
Our  mighty  love,  and  glorify  His  name? 

Whereon  myself  replied   (thinking  of  Christ)  : 
Has  not  God's  glory  unto  Him  sufficed? 
What  need  has  He  of  temples  that  men  raise? 
What  need  has  He  of  any  songs  of  praise? 
Not  sacrifice  nor  offerings  needs  He. 
(Thinking  of  Christ,  so  spake  Myself  to  me.) 

The  rivers  from  the  mountain  do  not  try 
To  feed  the  source  from  which  they  gain  supply ; 
They  pay  their  debt  by  flowing  on  and  down, 
And  carrying  comfort  to  the  field  and  town. 


52  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

They  scatter  joy  and  beauty  on  their  course, 
In  gratitude  to  the  Eternal  Source. 

And  thus  should  we  (thinking  of  Christ)  bestow 
The  full  sweet  tides  of  love  that  through  us  flow 
Upon  earth's  weaker  creatures.     To  the  less 
Must  flow  the  greater,  would  we  lift  and  bless. 
Christ  is  the   mountain  source;   each  heart  a 

river ; 
The  thirsting  meadows  need  us,  not  the  Giver. 

Thinking  of  Christ,  let  us  proclaim  His  worth 
By  gracious  deeds  to  mortals  on  this  earth: 
And  while  we  wait  His  coming,  let  us  bring 
Sweet  love  and  pity  to  the  humblest  thing, 
And  show  our  voiceless  kin  of  air  and  sod 
The  mercy  of  the  Universal  God. 

Not  by  long  prayers,  though  prayers  renew  our 

grace — 
Not  by  tall  spires,  though  steeples  have  their 

place — 

Not  by  our  faith,  though  faith  is  glorious — 
Can  we  prove  Christ,  but  by  the  love  in  us. 
Mercy  and  love  and  kindness — seek  these  three. 
Thus  (thinking  of  Christ)  Myself  said  unto  me. 


THE  TRAVELLER  53 


THE  TRAVELLER 

RISTLING  with,  steeples,  high  against 

the  hill, 
Like  some  great  thistle  in  the  rosy 

dawn 
It     stood;     the     Town-of-Christian- 

Churches,  stood. 

The  Traveller  surveyed  it  with  a  smile. 
1  Surely, '  He  said,  '  here  is  the  home  of  peace ; 
Here  neighbour  lives  with  neighbour  in  accord, 
God  in  the  heart  of  all;  else  why  these  spires?' 
(Christmas  season,  and  every  bell  ringing.) 

The  sudden  shriek  of  whistles  changed  the  sound 

From  mellow  music  into  jarring  noise. 

Then  down  the  street  pale  hurrying  children 

came, 

And  vanished  in  the  yawning  Factory  door. 
He  called  to  them:  'Come  back,  come  unto  Me/ 
The  Foreman  cursed,  and  caned  Him  from  the 

place. 
(Christmas  season,  and  every  bell  ringing.) 


I'Wl.li    From    l.wo   elmrehes   came    two    men,    and 

met, 

Disputing   loudly  over  boundary   lines, 
Hale   in   their  eyes,  and   murder  in   their  licarls. 
A   lian^lily   woman  drew  her  skirls  aside 
Beeanse   her   fallen  sisler   |>assed    Ihal,   way. 
The  Traveller   rebuked    lliem   all.      Ama/ed, 
They   asked    in    indignation,   'Who  are  you, 
Daring    lo    inlerfere    in    private    lives?' 
The  Traveller   replied,   '  I\ly    name   is  ('1IKMST.' 
((/hrislmas  ,s««ason,   and   every   bell    ringing.) 


WHAT   IIAVU    YOU    DONH 


WHAT   HAVE  YOU  DONE! 


HAT  have  you  done,  and  what  are  you 

doing  with,  life,  0  Man! 
()  Average  Man  of  the  world- 
Average  Man  of  the  Christian  world 

we  call  civilised? 
What  have  you  done  to  pay  for  the  labour  pains 

of  the  mother  who  bore  you? 
On  earth  you  occupy  space;  you  consume  oxy 
gen  from  the  air: 
And  what   do  you   give   in   return   for  these 

things? 

Who  is  better  that  you  live,  and  strive,  and  toil? 
Or  that  you  live  through  the  toiling  and  striving 

of  others? 
AH  you  pass  down  the  street  does  any  one  look 

on  you  and  say, 

*  There  goes  a  good  son,  a  true  husband,  a  wise 
father,  a  fine  citizen? 


56  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

A  man  whose  strong  hand  is  ready  to  help  a 
neighbour, 

A  man  to  trust'?  And  what  do  women  say  of 
you? 

Unto  their  own  souls  what  do  women  say? 

Do  they  say :  '  He  helped  to  make  the  road  easier 
for  tired  feet? 

To  broaden  the  narrow  horizon  for  aching  eyes? 

He  helped  us  to  higher  ideals  of  womanhood'? 

Look  into  your  own  heart  and  answer,  0  Aver 
age  Man  of  the  world, 

Of  the  Christian  world  we  call  civilised. 

ii 

"What  do  men  think  of  you,  what  do  they  think 
and  say  of  you, 

0  Average  Woman  of  the  world? 

Do  they  say:  ' There  is  a  woman  with  a  great 
heart, 

Loyal  to  her  sex,  and  above  envy  and  evil 
speaking : 

There  is  a  daughter,  wife,  mother,  with  a  pur 
pose  in  life: 

She  can  be  trusted  to  mould  the  minds  of  little 
children : 


WHAT  HAVE  YOU  DONE  57 

She  knows  how  to  be  good  without  being  dull; 
How  to  be  glad  and  to  make  others  glad  without 

descending  to  folly; 
She  is  one  who  illuminates  the  path  wherein  she 

walks ; 
One  who  awakens  the  best  in  every  human  being 

she  meets'? 
Look  into  your  heart,  0  Woman!  and  answer 

this: 

"What  are  you  doing  with  the  beautiful  years? 
Is  your  to-day  a  better  thing  than  was  your 

yesterday  ? 

Have  you  grown  in  knowledge,  grace,  and  use 
fulness  ? 
Or  are  you  ravelling  out  the  wonderful  fabric 

knit  by  Time, 

And  throwing  away  the  threads? 
Make  answer,  0  Woman!  Average  Woman  of 

the  Christian  world. 


58  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  UNDERTONE 

HEN  I  was  very  young  I  used  to  feel 

the  dark  despair  of  youth; 
Out  of  my  little  griefs  I  would  in 
vent  great  tragedies  and  woes; 
Not  only  for  myself,  but  for  all  those 

I  held  most  dear 
I  would  invent  vast  sorrows  in  my  melancholy 

moods  of  thought. 
Yet  down  deep,  deep  in  my  heart  there  was  an 

undertone  of  rapture. 
It  was  like  a  voice  from  some  other  world  calling 

softly  to  me, 
Saying  things  joyful. 

As  I  grew  older,  and  Life  offered  bitter  gall 
for  me  to  drink, 

Forcing  it  through  clenched  teeth  when  I  re 
fused  to  take  it  willingly; 

When  Pain  prepared  some  special  anguish  for 
my  heart  to  bear, 


THE  UNDERTONE  59 

And  all  the  things  I  longed  for  seemed  to  be 

wholly  beyond  my  reach — 
Yet  down  deep,  deep  in  my  heart  there  was  an 

undertone  of  rapture. 
It  was  like  a  Voice,  a  Voice  from  some  other 

world  calling  to  me, 
Bringing  glad  tidings. 

Now  when  I  look  about  me,  and  see  the  great 
injustices  of  men, 

See  Idleness  and  Greed  waited  upon  by  luxury 
and  mirth, 

See  prosperous  Vice  ride  by  in  state,  while  foot 
sore  Virtue  walks; 

Now  when  I  hear  the  cry  of  need  rise  up  from 
lands  of  shameful  wealth — 

Yet  down  deep,  deep  in  my  heart  there  is  an 
undertone  of  rapture. 

It  is  like  a  Voice — it  is  a  Voice — calling  to  me 
and  saying: 

'Love  rules  triumphant.' 

Now  when  each  mile-post  on  the  path  of  life 

seems  marked  by  headstones, 
And  one  by  one  dear  faces  that  I  loved  are  hid 

away  from  sight; 


60  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Now  when  in  each  familiar  home  I  see  a  vacant 

chair, 
And  in  the  throngs  once  formed  of  friends  I 

meet  unrecognising  eyes — 
Yet  down  deep,  deep  in  my  heart  there  is  an 

undertone  of  rapture. 
It  is  the  Voice,  it  is  the  Voice  forever  saying 

unto  me: 
'Life  is  Eternal.' 


GTPSYING  61 


GYPSYING 

jYPSYING,     gypsying,     through     the 

world  together, 
Never  mind  the  way  we  go,  never 

mind  what  port. 
Follow  trails,  or  fashion  sails,  start 

in  any  weather: 

While  we  journey  hand  in  hand,  everything  is 
sport. 

Gypsying,  gypsying,  leaving  care  and  worry: 

Never  mind  the  'if  and  'but'  (words  for  cow 
ard  lips). 

Put  them  out  with  'fear'  and  'doubt,'  in  the 
pack  with  'hurry,' 

While  we  stroll  like  vagabonds  forth  to  trails, 
or  ships. 

Gypsying,  gypsying,  just  where  fancy  calls  us; 
Never  mind  what  others  say,  or  what  others  do. 


62  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Everywhere  or  foul  or  fair,  liking  what  befalls 

us; . 
While  you  have  me  at  your  side,  and  while  I 

have  you. 

Gypsying,  gypsying,  camp  by  hill  or  hollow; 
Never  mind  the  why  of  it,  since  it  suits  our 

mood. 
Go  or  stay,  and  pay  our  way,  and  let  those  who 

follow 
Find,  unspringing  from  the  soil,  some  small  seed 

of  good. 

Gypsying,    gypsying,    through    the    world    we 

wander : 
Never  mind  the  rushing  years,  that  have  come 

and  gone. 
There    must   be   for   you   and   me,   lying   over 

Yonder, 
Other  lands,  where  side  by  side  we  can  gypsy  on. 


DANCE  OF  THE  SULPHIDES'  SONG      63 


DANCE   OF  THE  SONG  OF  THE 
SYLPHIDES 

The  unwritten  law  of  the  ancient  Egyptians  de 
manded  that  a  famous  dancer  or  singer  should  retire  at 
the  height  of  her  career,  or  die.  Amaremu,  the  wonder 
ful  dancer,  confessed  to  the  Priest  of  the  Temple  that 
she  had  decided  to  die  after  dancing  the  Song  of  the 
Sylphides.  The  Priest,  who  was  a  great  musician, 
asked  her  to  rehearse  the  dance  for  him  and  he  would 
improvise  music  for  it.  The  verses  are  written  on  the 
story  as  related  in  a  papyrus  found  by  Dr.  Paul  Schlie- 
mann  in  the  recent  excavations  of  the  Temple  of  Sais. 
The  instrument  used  by  the  Priest  was  a  horn  fash 
ioned  from  a  human  skull.  It  was  known  as  the  Dead 
Throat,  the  Skull  Horn,  and  was  used  in  all  great 
orchestras  in  ancient  Egypt. 

MAREMU  the  dancer    (oh,   a  dancer 

of  dreams  was  Amaremu) 
Unto  the  Priest  of  the  Temple,  the 

Temple  of  Sais,  drew  nigh. 
She  had  reached  the  height  of  her 
triumph,  and  now,  as  all  men  knew, 
She  must  dance  no  more,  or  die. 

Amaremu    the    dancer    (oh,    Amaremu   was    a 

dancer  of  songs) 
Unto  the  Priest  of  the  Temple,  the  Temple  of 

Sais,  said: 


64  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

'I  will  dance  the  Song  of  the  Sylphides  once 

more  for  the  waiting  throngs; 
Then  go  my  way  with  the  dead/ 

» 
Then  answered  the  Priest  to  the   dancer    (to 

Amarenm,  dancer  of  love)  : 
'Show  me  the  dance  of  the  Sylphides  and  teach 

me  its  rhythm  and  time; 
I  will  shape  you  an  air  on  the  Skull  Horn;  I 

will  play  for  you  as  you  move 
Through  the  Song  of  the  wordless  rhyme.' 

Amarenm  the  dancer   (dancer  of  anthems  and 

hymns  to  the  sun) 
Danced  in  the  Temple  of  Sais,  alone  for  the 

Priest  who  played. 
Slowly  the  notes  from  the  Skull  Horn  came 

quivering  one  by  one, 
And  slowly  the  dancer  swayed. 

Slowly  at  first,  then  faster,  swayed  Amaremu, 

dancer  of  life's  delight; 
And  faster  and  louder  and  wilder  the  notes  of 

the  Skull  Horn  grew; 


DANCE  OF  THE  SULPHIDES'  SONG     65 

And  the  Priest  was  a  priest  no  longer,  but  a 

man  alone  at  night 
With  the  dancer  Amaremu. 


Faster  and  wilder  and  madder  danced  Ama 
remu,  danced  Amaremu; 

She  flung  down  garment  by  garment;  she  tore 
off  veil  by  veil; 

And  the  face  of  the  Priest  was  pallid,  and  his 
breath  came  hard  as  he  drew 

From  the  Skull  Horn,  sounds  like  a  wail. 

Amaremu  the  dancer  (the  dancer  of  dream,  and 

song,  or  rite  and  feast, 
Dancer  of  mighty  emotions,  dancer  of  terrible 

joys) 
Stood  nude  in  the  Temple  of  Sais,  stood  nude 

before  the  Priest, 
In  the  beauty  that  destroys. 

Amaremu  the  dancer  (oh,  Amaremu  was  dance 

and  song  and  dream) 

Stood  white  in  her  awful  beauty  while  the  pale 
Priest  brought  a  note 


66  POEMS   OF  PROBLEMS 

Like  the  mingled  shout  of  a  devil  and  a  soul's 

despairing  scream 
From  the  Skull  Horn's  hollow  throat. 

Amaremu  the  dancer  (the  dancer  of  the  Syl- 
phides'  Song  of  Death) 

Had  finished  her  dance  of  passion,  and  the 
Priest  had  ceased  to  play. 

And  white  as  a  marble  statue,  like  a  statue  with 
out  breath, 

In  the  dead  Priest's  arms  she  lay. 


TEE   BIRTH    OF   THE    ORCHID          67 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE   ORCHID 

RAPPED  in  her  robe  of  amethyst 

Rose  the  young  Dawn. 

Pallid  with  passion  came  the  Mist, 

And  followed  on, 

Fleet  as  a  fawn. 

Down  by  the  sea  they  clasped  and  kissed: 
Swooned  the  young  Dawn. 

Out  of  that  kiss  of  dew  and  flame 
The  orchid  came. 


68  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


STAIRWAYS  AND  GARDENS 

|ARDENS    and   Stairways;    those   are 

words  that  thrill  me 
Always   with   vague   suggestions   of 

delight. 
Stairways  and  Gardens.  Mystery  and 

grace 

Seem  part  of  their  environment;  they  fill  me 
With  memories  of  things  veiled  from  my  sight, 
In  some  far  place. 

Gardens.    The  word  is  overcharged  with  mean 
ing. 

It  speaks  of  moonlight  and  a  closing  door. 
Of  birds  at  dawn — of  sultry  afternoons. 
Gardens.    I  seem  to  see  low  branches  screening 
A  vine-roofed  arbour  with  a  leaf-tiled  floor, 
Where  sunlight  swoons. 

Stairways.    The  word  winds  upward  to  a  land 
ing; 
Then  curves  and  vanishes  in  space  above. 


STAIRWAYS  AND  GARDENS  69 

Lights  fall,  lights  rise ;  soft  lights  that  meet  and 

blend. 

Stairways ;  and  some  one  at  the  bottom  standing 
Expectantly  with  lifted  looks  of  love. 
Then  steps  descend. 

Gardens    and    stairways.     They    belong    with 

song — 

With  subtle  scents  of  myrrh  and  musk — 
With  dawn  and  dusk — with  youth,  romance,  and 

mystery, 

And  times  that  were  and  times  that  are  to  be. 
Stairways  -and  gardens. 


70  POEMS   OF  PROBLEMS 


SONG  OF  THE  ROAD 

AM  a  Road;  a  good  road,  fair  and 

smooth  and  broad; 
And  I  link  with  my  beautiful  tether 
Town  and  Country  together, 
Like  a  ribbon  rolled  on  the  earth, 

from  the  reel  of  God. 
Oh,  great  the  life  of  a  Road! 

I  am  a  Road;  a  long  road,  leading  on  and  on; 
And  I  cry  to  the  world  to  follow, 
Past  meadow  and  hill  and  hollow, 

Through  desolate  night,   to  the  open  gates  of 

dawn. 
Oh,  bold  the  life  of  a  Road! 

I  am  a  Road;  a  kind  road,  shaped  by  strong 

hands. 

I  make  strange  cities  neighbours; 
The  poor  grow  rich  with  my  labours, 


SONG   OF   THE   EOAD  71 

And  beauty  and  comfort  follow  me  through  the 

lands. 
Oh,  glad  the  life  of  a  Road! 

I  am  a  Road;  a  wise  road,  knowing  all  men's 

ways; 

And  I  know  how  each  heart  reaches 
For  the  things  dear  Nature  teaches; 
And  I  am  the  path  that  leads  into  green  young 

Mays. 
Oh,  sweet  the  life  of  a  Road ! 

I  am  a  Road ;  and  I  speed  away  from  the  slums, 

Away  from  desolate  places, 

Away  from  unused  spaces; 
Wherever  I  go,  there  order  from  chaos  comes. 

Oh,  brave  the  life  of  a  Road! 

I  am  a  Road ;  and  I  would  make  the  whole  world 

one. 

I  would  give  hope  to  duty, 
And  cover  the  earth  with  beauty. 
Do  you  not  see,  0  men!  how  all  this  might  be 

done? 
So  vast  the  power  of  the  Road! 


72  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  FORECAST 

T  may  be  that  I  dreamed  a  dream;  it 

may  be  that  I  saw 
The  forecast  of  a  time  to  comef  "by 
some  supernal  law. 

I  seemed  to  dwell  in  this  same  world, 

and  in  this  modern  time; 
All  strife  had  ceased;  men  were  disarmed;  and 

quiet  Peace  had  made 
A  thousand  avenues  for  toil,  in  place  of  "War's 

crime  trade. 
From  east  to  west,  from  north  to  south,  where 

highways  smooth  and  broad 
Tied  State  to  State,  the  waste  lands  bloomed, 

like  garden  spots  of  God. 
There  were  no  beggars  in  the  streets ;  there  were 

no  unemployed; 
For  each  man  owned  his  plot  of  ground,  and 

laboured  and  enjoyed. 
Sweet  children  grew  like   garden   flowers,   all 

strong  and  fair  to  see ; 


THE    FORECAST  73 

And  when  I  marvelled  at  the  sight,  thus  spake 

a  Voice  to  me: 
'All  Motherhood  is  now  an  art,  the  greatest  art 

on  earth; 
And  nowhere  is  there  known  the  crime  of  one 

unwelcome  birth. 
From  rights  of  parentage  the  sick  and  sinful 

are  debarred; 
For  Matron  Science  keeps  our  house,  and  at  the 

door  stands  guard. 
We  know  the  cure  for  darkness  lies  in  letting 

in  the  light; 
And  Prisons   are   replaced  by   Schools,   where 

wrong  views  change  to  right. 
The  wisdom,   knowledge,  study,  thought,   once 

bent  on  beast  and  sod, 
We  give  now  to  the  human  race,  the  highest 

work  of  God ; 
And,  as  the  gardener  chooses  seed,  so  we  select 

with  care; 
And  as  our  Man  Plant  grows,  we  give  him  soil 

and  sun  and  air. 
There  are  no  slums;  no  need  of  alms;  all  men 

are  opulent, 


74  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

For  Mother  Earth  belongs  to  them,  as  was  the 
First  Intent/ 

It  may  be  that  I  dreamed  a  dream;  it  may  be 

that  I  saw 
The  forecast  of  a  time  to  come,  by  some  supernal 

law. 


THE  FAITH  WE  NEED  75 


THE  FAITH  WE  NEED 

1 00  tall  our  structures,  and  too  swift 

our  pace; 
Not  so  we  mount,  not  so  we  gain  the 

race. 
Too  loud  the  voice  of  commerce  in 

the  land; 

Not  so  truth  speaks,  not  so  we  understand. 
Too  vast  our  conquests,  and  too  large  our  gains ; 
Not  so  comes  peace,  not  so  the  soul  attains. 

But  the  need  of  the  world  is  a  faith  that  will 

live  anywhere; 
In  the  still  dark  depths  of  the  woods,  or  out  in 

the  sun's  full  glare. 
A  faith  that  can  hear  God's  voice,  alike  in  the 

quiet  glen, 
Or  in  the  roar  of  the  street,  and  over  the  noises 

of  men. 

And  the  need  of  the  world  is  a  creed  that  is 
founded  on  joy; 


76  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

A  creed  with  the  turrets  of  hope  and  trust,  no 

winds  can  destroy; 
A  creed  where  the  soul  finds  rest,  whatever  this 

life  bestows, 
And  dwells  undoubting  and  unafraid,  because 

it  knows,  it  knows. 

And  the  need  of  the  world  is  love  that  burns  in 

the  heart  like  flame; 
A  love  for  the  Giver  of  Life,  in  sorrow  or  joy 

the  same; 
A  love  that  blazes  a  trail  to  God,  through  the 

dark  and  the  cold, 
Or  keeps  the  pathway  that  leads  to  Him  clean, 

through  glory  and  gold. 

For  the  faith  that  can  only  thrive  or  grow  in 

the  solitude, 
And  droops  and  dies  in  the  marts  of  men,  where 

sights  and  sounds  are  rude; 
That  is  not  a  faith  at  all,  but  a  dream  of  a 

mystic's  heart. 
Our  faith  should  point  as  the  compass  points, 

whatever  be  the  chart. 

Our  faith  must  find  its  centre  of  peace  in  a 
babel  of  noise; 


THE  FAITH   WE  NEED  77 

In  the  changing  ways  of  the  world  of  men  it 

must  keep  its  poise; 
And  over  the  sorrowing  sounds  of  earth  it  must 

hear  God's  call; 
And  the  faith  that  cannot  do  all  this,  that  is 

not  faith  at  all. 


78  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


CHRIST  CRUCIFIED 

|OW  ere  I  slept,  my  prayer  had  been 

that  I  might  see  my  way 
To  do  the  will  of  Christ,  our  Lord 

and  Master,  day  by  day; 
And  with  this  prayer  upon  my  lips, 

I  knew  not  that  I  dreamed, 
But  suddenly  the  world  of  night 

a  pandemonium  seemed. 
From  forest,  and  from  slaughter  house, 

from  bull  ring,  and  from  stall, 
There  rose  an  anguished  cry  of  pain, 

a  loud,  appealing  call; 
As  man — the  dumb  beast's  next  of  kin — 

with  gun,  and  whip,  and  knife, 
Went  pleasure-seeking  through  the  earth, 

blood-bent  on  taking  life. 
From  trap,  and  cage,  and  house,  and  zoo, 

and  street,  that  awful  strain 
Of  tortured  creatures  rose  and  swelled 
the  orchestra  of  pain. 


C HEIST  CRUCIFIED  79 

And  then  methought  the  gentle  Christ 

appeared  to  me,  and  spoke: 
'I  called  ye,  but  ye  answered  not' — 

and  in  my  fear  I  woke. 

The  next  I  heard  the  roar  of  mills; 

and  moving  through  the  noise, 
Like  phantoms  in  an  underworld, 

were  little  girls  and  boys. 
Their  backs  were  bent,  their  brows  were  pale, 

their  eyes  were  sad  and  old ; 
But  by  the  labour  of  their  hands 

greed  added  gold  to  gold. 
Again  the  Presence  and  the  Voice: 

'Behold  the  crimes  I  see, 
As  ye  have  done  it  unto  these, 

so  have  ye  done  to  me/ 

Again  I  slept.     I  seemed  to  climb 

a  hard,  ascending  track; 
And  just  behind  me  laboured  one 

whose  patient  face  was  black. 
I  pitied  him;  but  hour  by  hour 

he  gained  upon  the  path; 


80  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

He  stood  beside  me,  stood  upright — 

and  then  I  turned  in  wrath. 
'Go  back!*  I  cried.    'What  right  have  you 

to  walk  beside  me  here? 
For  you  are  black,  and  I  am  white.' 

I  paused,  struck  dumb  with  fear. 
For  lo !  the  black  man  was  not  there, 

but  Christ  stood  in  his  place; 
And  oh!  the  pain,  the  pain,  the  pain 

that  looked  from  that  dear  face. 

Now  when  I  woke,  the  air  was  rife 

with  that  sweet,  rhythmic  din 
Which  tells  the  world  that  Christ  has  come 

to  save  mankind  from  sin. 
And  through  the  open  door  of  church 

and  temple  passed  a  throng, 
To  worship  Him  with  bended  knee, 

with  sermon,  and  with  song. 
But  over  all  I  heard  the  cry 

oi;  hunted,  mangled  things; 
Those  creatures  which  are  part  of  God, 

though  they  have  hoofs  and  wings. 
I  saw  in  mill,  and  mine,  and  shop, 

the  little  slaves  of  greed; 


CHRIST  CRUCIFIED  81 

I  heard  the  strife  of  race  with  race, 
all  sprung  from  one  God-seed. 

And  then  I  bowed  my  head  in  shame, 
and  in  contrition  cried — 

'Lo,  after  nineteen  hundred  years 
Christ  still  is  Crucified/ 


82  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 


llte% 


Kifa'j^ffij 


THE  PLOUGH 

F  you  listen,  you  will  hear  from  east 

to  west, 
Growing  sounds  of   discontent   and 

deep  unrest. 
It  is  just  the  progress-driven  plough 

of  God, 

Tearing  up  the  well-worn  custom-bounded  sod; 
Shaping  out  each  old  tradition-trodden  track 
Into  furrows,  fertile  furrows,  rich  and  black. 
Oh,  what  harvests  they  will  yield 
When  they  widen  to  a  field.   • 

They  will  widen,  they  will  broaden,  day  by  day, 
As  the  Progress-driven  plough  keeps  on  its  way. 
It  will  riddle  all  the  ancient  roads  that  lead 
Into  palaces  of  selfishness  and  greed; 
It  will  tear  away  the  almshouse  and  the  slum 
That  the  little  homes  and  garden  plots  may  come. 
Yes,  the  gardens  green  and  sweet 
Shall  replace  the  stony  street. 


THE  PLOUGH  83 

Let  the  wise  man  hear  the  menace  that  is  blent 
In  this  ever-growing  sound  of  discontent. 
Let  him  hear  the  rising  clamour  of  the  race 
That  the  few  shall  yield  the  many  larger  space. 
For  the  crucial  hour  is  coming  when  the  soil 
Must  be  given  to,  or  taken  back  by  Toil. 
Oh,  that  mighty  plough  of  God; 
Hear  it  breaking  through  the  sod! 


84  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  EARTH 

i 

|0  build  a  house,  with  love  for  archi 
tect, 
Ranks  first  and  foremost  in  the  joys 

of  life. 

And  in  a  tiny  cabin,  shaped  for  two, 
The  space  for  happiness  is  just  as  great 
As  in  a  palace.    What  a  world  were  this 
If  each  soul  born,  received  a  plot  of  ground; 
A  little  plot,  whereon  a  home  might  rise, 
And  beauteous  green  things  grow! 

We  give  the  dead, 

The  idle  vagrant  dead,  the  Potter's  Field; 
Yet  to  the  living  not  one  inch  of  soil. 
Nay,  we  take  from  them  soil,  and  sun,  and  air, 
To  fashion  slums  and  hell-holes  for  the  race. 
And  to  our  poor  we  say,  c  Go  starve  and  die 
As  beggars  die;  so  gain  your  heritage/ 

ii 

That  was  a  most  uncanny  dream ;  I  thought  the 
wraiths  of  those 


THE   EARTH  85 

Long  buried  in  the  Potter's  Field,  in  shredded 
shrouds  arose; 

They  said,  '  Against  the  will  of  God 
We  have  usurped  the  fertile  sod, 
Now  will  we  make  it  yield.' 

Oh!  but  it  was  a  gruesome  sight,  to  see  those 

phantoms  toil; 

Each  to  his  own  small  garden  bent ;  each  spaded 
up  the  soil; 

(I  never  knew  Ghosts  laboured  so.) 
Each  scattered  seed,  and  watched,  till  lo ! 
The  Graves  were  opulent. 

Then  all  among  the  fragrant  greens,  the  silent, 

spectral  train 

Walked,  as  if  breathing  in  the  breath  of  plant, 
and  flower,  and  grain. 

(I  never  knew  Ghosts  loved  such  things; 
Perchance  it  brought  back  early  springs 
Before  they  thought  of  death.) 

'The  mothers'  milk  for  living  babes;  the  earth 
for  living  hosts; 


86  POEMS  OF  PEOPLE  MS 

The  clean  flame  for  the  un-souled  dead.'  (Oh, 
strange  the  words  of  Ghosts.) 

'If  we  had  owned  this  little  spot 
In  life,  we  need  not  lie  and  rot 
Here  in  a  pauper's  bed.' 


SEPTEMBER  87 


SEPTEMBER 

EPTEMBER   comes    along   the   great 

green  way 
That  Spring  and  Summer  fashioned 

for  our  feet. 
And   though   her   face   is  beautiful 

and  sweet, 
Though  gracious  smiles  about  her  ripe  mouth 

play, 

Yet  subtle  recollections  of  each  day 
Of  idleness  in  her  large  look  I  meet. 
All  things  achieved  stand  small  and  incomplete 
Beside  the  boastful  promises  of  May! 
Now  I  berate  fair  June,  who  tempted  me 
"With  fragrant  beds  of  roses,  and  as  well 
Her  siren  sisters,  who  were  following  near; 
But  most  of  all  I  do  accuse  the  Sea. 
Reach  me  thine  hand,  and  help  me  break  the 

spell, 
September,  matron-mentor  of  the  year! 


88  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 


OCTOBER 


)NE    are    the    Spring    and    Summer 

from  the  year; 
And  from  our  lives  as  well.     May 

we  not,  dear, 
In  our  October  find  serene  delights 
To  take  the  place  of  ardent  summer  nights? 
Not  striving  to  retain  a  dying  season, 
Or  imitate  its  pleasures,  but  with  reason 
Accepting  Autumn's  quiet,  briefer  day 
Of  calm  content,  not  seeking  to  be  gay? 

HE 

Gone  are  the  Spring  and  Summer ;  yet  behold 
The  radiant  woods,  supreme  in  red  and  gold 
And  russet  colours ;  and  the  wind  harp  plays 
A  louder  song  than  in  the  April  days. 
Our  lives  need  not  be  colourless  or  sober 
Because  of  Autumn.     Emulate  October, 
Who  will  not  let  the  ageing  years  grow  dull, 
But  keep  its  love  by  being  beautiful. 


TWO   VOICES 


TWO  VOICES 

VIRTUE 

WANTON  one,   0  wicked  one,  how 

was  it  that  you  came, 
Down  from  the  paths  of  purity,  to 

walk  the  streets  of  shame? 
And    wherefore    was    that    precious 
wealth,  God  gave  to  you  in  trust, 
Flung  broadcast  for  the  feet  of  men  to  trample 
in  the  dust? 

VICE 
0  prudent  one,  0  spotless  one,  now  listen  well 

to  me. 
The  ways  that  led  to  where  I  tread  these  paths 

of  sin,  were  three: 

And  God,  and  good  folks,  all  combined  to  make 
them  fair  to  see. 

VIRTUE 

O  wicked  one,  blasphemous  one,  now  how  could 
that  thing  be? 


90  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

VICE 
The  first  was  Nature 's  lovely  road,  whereon  my 

life  was  hurled. 
I  felt  the  stirring  in  my  blood,  which  permeates 

the  world. 
I  thrilled  like  willows  in  the  spring,  when  sap 

begins  to  flow; 
It  was  young  passion  in  my  veins,  but  how  was 

I  to  know? 

The  second  was  the  silent  road,  where  modest 

mothers  dwell, 
And  hide  from  eager,  curious  minds,  the  truth 

they  ought  to  tell. 
That  misnamed  road  called  '  Innocence '  should 

bear  the  sign  'To  Hell.' 
With  song  and  dance  in  ignorance  I  walked  that 

road  and  fell. 

VIRTUE 
O  fallen  one,  unhappy  one,  but  why  not  rise 

and  go 
Back  to  the  ways  you  left  behind,  and  leave  your 

sins  below, 
Nor  linger  in  this  sink  of  sin,  since  now  you  see, 

and  know? 


TWO    VOICES  91 

VICE 

The  third  road  was  the  fair  highway,  trod  by  the 

good  and  great. 
I  cried  aloud  to  that  vast  crowd,  and  told  my 

hapless  fate. 
They  hurried  all  through  door  and  wall  and 

shut  Convention's  gate. 
I  beat  it  with  my  bleeding  hands:  they  must 

have  heard  me  knock. 
They  must  have  heard  wild  sob  and  word,  yet 

no  one  turned  the  lock. 

Oh,  it  is  very  desolate,   on  Virtue's  path  to 

stand, 
And  see  the  good  folks  flocking  by,  withholding 

look  and  hand. 

And  so  with  hungry  heart  and  soul,  and  weary 
brain  and  feet, 

I  left  that  highway  whence  you  came,  and  sought 
the  sinful  street. 

O  prudent  one,  0  spotless  one,  when  good  folks 
speak  of  me, 

Go,  tell  them  of  the  roads  I  came;  the  road 
ways  fair,  and  three. 


92  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  GRADUATES 


SAW  them  beautiful,  in  fair  array 

upon  Commencement  Day; 
Lissome    and    lovely,    radiant    and 

sweet 
As  cultured  roses,  brought  to  their 

estate 

By  careful  training.    Finished  and  complete 
(As  teachers  calculate). 

They  passed  in  maiden  grace  along  the  aisle, 
Leaving  the  chaste  white  sunlight  of  a  smile 
Upon  the  gazing  throng. 

Musing  I  thought  upon  their  place  as  mothers 
of  the  race. 

Oh  there  are  many  actors  who  can  play 
Greatly,  great  parts ;  but  rare  indeed  the  soul 
Who  can  be  great  when  cast  for  some  small 

role; 
Yet  that  is  what  the  world  most  needs ;  big  hearts 


THE  GRADUATES  93 

That  will  shine  forth  and  glorify  poor  parts 
In  this  strange  drama,  Life!     Do  they, 
Who  in  full  dress-rehearsal  pass  to-day 
Before  admiring  eyes,  hold  in  their  store 
Those  fine  high  principles  which  keep  old  Earth 
From  being  only  earth ;  and  make  men  more 
Than  just  mere  men?     How  will  they  prove 

their  worth 

Of  years  of  study  ?    Will  they  walk  abroad 
Decked  with  the  plumage  of  dead  bards  of  God, 
The  glorious  birds?   And  shall  the  lamb  unborn 
Be  slain  on  altars  of  their  vanity? 
To  some  frail  sister  who  has  missed  the  way 
Will  they  give   Christ's  compassion,  or  man's 

scorn  ? 
And   will   clean  manhood,   linked  with  honest 

love, 

The  victor  prove, 

When  riches,  gained  by  greed  dispute  the  claim  ? 
Will  they  guard  well  a  husband's  home  and 

name, 

Or  lean  down  from  their  altitudes  to  hear 
The  voice  of  flattery  speak  in  the  ear 
Those  lying  platitudes  which  men  repeat 
To  listening  Self-Conceit  ? 


94  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Musing  I  thought  upon  their  places  as  mothers 

of  the  race, 
As  beautiful  they  passed  in  maiden  grace. 


THE  LEADER  TO  BE  95 


THE  LEADER  TO  BE 

HAT  shall  the  leader  be  in  that  great 

day 
When  we  who  sleep  and  dream  that 

we  are  slaves 
Shall  wake  and  know  that  Liberty 

is  ours? 
Mark  well  that  word — not  yours,  not  mine,  but 

ours: 

For  through  the  mingling  of  the  separate  streams 
Of  individual  protest  and  desire, 
In  one  united  sea  of  purpose,  lies 
The  course  to  Freedom. 

When  Progression  takes 
Her  undisputed  right  of  way,  and  sinks 
The  old  traditions  and  conventions  where 
They  may  not  rise,  what  shall  the  leader  be? 

No  mighty  warrior  skilled  in  crafts  of  war, 
Sowing  earth's  fertile  furrows  with  dead  men 


96  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

And  staining  crimson  God's  cerulean  sea, 
To  prove  his  prowess  to  a  shuddering  world. 
No  ruler,  purchased  by  the  perjured  votes 
Of  striving  demagogues  whose  god  is  gold. 
Not  one  of  these  shall  lead  to  Liberty. 
The  weakness  of  the  world  cries  out  for  strength. 
The  sorrow  of  the  world  cries  out  for  hope. 
Its  suffering  cries  for  kindness. 

He  who  leads 

Must  then  be  strong  and  hopeful  as  the  dawn 
That  rises  unafraid  and  full  of  joy 
Above  the  blackness  of  the  darkest  night. 
He  must  be  kind  to  every  living  thing; 
Kind  as  the  Krishna,  Buddha,  and  the  Christ, 
And  full  of  love  for  all  created  life. 
Oh,  not  in  war  shall  his  great  prowess  lie, 
Nor  shall  he  find  his  pleasure  in  the  chase. 
Too   great   for  slaughter,   friend  of  man  and 

beast, 

Touching  the  borders  of  the  Unseen  Realms 
And  bringing  down  to  earth  their  mystic  fires 
To  light  our  troubled  pathways,  wise  and  kind, 
And  human  to  the  core,  so  shall  he  be 
The  coming  leader  of  the  coming  time. 


DISARMAMENT  97 


DISARMAMENT 


E    have    outgrown    the    helmet    and 

cuirass, 

The  spear,  the  arrow,  and  the  javelin. 
These  crude  inventions  of  a  cruder 

age, 

When  men  killed  men  to  show  their  love  of  God, 
And  he  who  slaughtered  most  was  greatest  king. 
"We  have  outgrown  the  need  of  war !  Should  men 
Unite  in  this  one  thought,  all  war  would  end. 

Disarm  the  world;  and  let  all  Nations  meet 
Like  Men,  not  monsters,  when  disputes  arise. 
"When  crossed  opinions  tangle  into  snarls, 
Let  Courts  untie  them,  and  not  armies  cut. 
"When  state  discussions  breed  dissensions,  let 
Union  and  Arbitration  supersede 
The  hell-created  implements  of  War. 
Disarm  the  world!  and  bid  destructive  thought 


98  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Slip  like  a  serpent  from  the  mortal  mind 
Down  through,  the  marshes  of  oblivion.     Soon 
A  race  of  gods  shall  rise!   Disarm!  Disarm! 


THE  EDICT   OF   THE   SEX  99 


THE  EDICT  OF  THE   SEX 

)WO  thousand  years  had  passed  since 

Christ  was  born, 
When  suddenly  there  rose  a  mighty 

host 
Of   women,   sweeping   to   a   central 

goal 

As  many  rivers  sweep  on  to  the  sea. 
They  came  from  mountains,  valleys,  and  from 

coasts 

And  from  all  lands,  all  nations,  and  all  ranks, 
Speaking  all  languages,  but  thinking  one. 
And  that  one  language — Peace. 

'Listen,'  they  said, 

And  straightway  was  there  silence  on  the  earth, 
For  men  were  dumb  with  wonder  and  surprise. 
'Listen,  0  mighty  masters  of  the  world, 
And  hear  the  edict  of  all  womankind: 
Since   Christ  His  new  commandment  gave  to 
men, 


100  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

"Love  one  another/'  full  two  thousand  years 
Have  passed  away,  yet  earth  is  red  with  blood. 
The  strong  male  rulers  of  the  world  proclaim 
Their  weakness,  when  we  ask  that  war  shall 

cease. 

Now  will  the  poor  weak  women  of  the  world 
Proclaim  their  strength,  and  say  that  war  shall 

end. 

Hear,  then,  our  edict :  Never  from  this  day 
Will  any  woman  on  the  crust  of  earth 
Mother  a  warrior.    We  have  sworn  the  oath 
And  will  go  barren  to  the  waiting  tomb 
Bather  than  breed  strong  sons  at  war's  behest, 
Or  bring  fair  daughters  into  life,  to  bear 
The  pains  of  travail,  for  no  end  but  war. 
Ay!  let  the  race  die  out  for  lack  of  babes: 
Better  a  dying  race  than  endless  wars ! 
Better  a  silent  world  than  noise  of  guns 
And  clash  of  armies. 

'Long  we  asked  for  peace, 
And  oft  you  promised — but  to  fight  again. 
At  last  you  told  us,  war  must  ever  be 
While  men  existed,  laughing  at  our  plea 
For  the  disarmament  of  all  mankind. 


THE  EDICT  OF  THE  SEX  101 

Then  in  our  hearts  flamed  such  a  mad  desire 
For  peace  on  earth,  as  lights  the  world  at  times 
With  some  great  conflagration ;  and  it  spread 
From  distant  land  to  land,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Until  all  women  thought  as  with  one  mind 
And  spoke  as  with  one  voice ;  and  now  behold ! 
The  great  Crusading  Syndicate  of  Peace, 
Filling  all  space  with  one  supreme  resolve. 
G-ive  us,  0  men,  your  word  that  war  shall  end: 
Disarm  the  world,  and  we  will  give  you  sons — 
Sons  to  construct,  and  daughters  to  adorn 
A  beautiful  new  earth,  where  there  shall  be 
Fewer  and  finer  people,  opulence 
And  opportunity  and  peace  for  all. 
Until  you  promise  peace  no  shrill  birth-cry 
Shall  sound  again  upon  the  ageing  earth. 
We  wait  your  answer/ 

And  the  world  was  still. 
While  men  considered. 


102  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  SPINSTER 

I 
ERE  are   the  orchard  trees  all  large 

with  fruit; 
And  yonder  fields  are  golden  with 

young  grain. 
In  little  journeys,  branchward  from 

the  nest, 

A  mother  bird,  with  sweet  insistent  cries, 
Urges  her  young  to  use  their  untried  wings. 
A  purring  Tabby,  stretched  upon  the  sward, 
Shuts  and  expands  her  velvet  paws  in  joy, 
While  sturdy  kittens  nuzzle  at  her  breast. 

0  mighty  Maker  of  the  Universe, 

Am  I  not  part  and  parcel  of  Thy  World, 
And  one  with  Nature?  Wherefore,  then,  in  me 
Must  this  great  reproductive  impulse  lie 
Hidden,  ashamed,  unnourished,  and  denied, 
Until  it  starves  to  slow  and  tortuous  death? 

1  knew  the  hope  of  springtime;  like  the  tree 


THE   SPINSTER  103 

Now    ripe    with    fruit,    I    budded,    and    then 

bloomed ; 
We  laughed  together  through  the  young  May 

morns ; 
We    dreamed    together    through    the    summer 

moons ; 

Till  all  Thy  purposes  within  the  tree 
Were    to    fruition   brought.     Lord,    Thou   hast 

heard 

The  Woman  in  me  crying  for  the  Man; 
The  Mother  in  me  crying  for  the  Child; 
And  made  no  answer.    Am  I  less  to  Thee 
Than  lower  forms  of  Nature,  or  in  truth 
Dost  Thou  hold  Somewhere  in  another  Realm 
Full  compensation  and  large  recompense 
For  lonely  virtue  forced  by  fate  to  live 
A  life  unnatural,  in  a  natural  world? 

ii 

Thou  who  hast  made  for  such  sure  purposes 
The  mightiest  and  the  meanest  thing  that  is — 
Planned  out  the  lives  of  insects  of  the  air 
With  fine  precision  and  consummate  care; 
Thou  who  hast  taught  the  bee  the  secret  power 
Of  carrying  on  love's  laws   'twixt  flower  and 
flower ; 


104  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Why  didst  Thou  shape  this  mortal  frame  of 

mine, 

If  Heavenly  joys  alone  were  Thy  design? 
Wherefore  the  wonder  of  my  woman's  breast, 
By  lips  of  lover  and  of  babe  impressed, 
If  spirit  children  only  shall  reply 
Unto  my  ever  urgent  mother  cry? 
Why  should  the  rose  be  guided  to  its  own, 
And  my  love-craving  heart  beat  on  alone? 

in 

Yet  do  I  understand;  for  Thou  hast  made 
Something  more  subtle  than  this  heart  of  me; 
A  finer  part  of  me 
To  be  obeyed. 

Albeit  I  am  a  sister  to  the  earth, 
This  nature  self  is  not  the  whole  of  me; 
The  deathless  soul  of  me 
Has  nobler  birth. 

The  primal  woman  hungers  for  the  man; 
My  better  self  demands  the  mate  of  me; 
The  spirit  fate  of  me, 
Part  of  Thy  plan. 


THE  SPINSTER  105 

Nature  is  instinct  with  the  mother-need; 
So  is  my  heart ;  but  ah,  the  child  of  me 
Should,  undefiled  of  me, 
Spring  from  love's  seed. 

And  if,  in  barren  chastity,  I  must 

Know  but  in  dreams  that  perfect  choice  of  me, 

Still  will  the  voice  of  me 

Proclaim  God  just. 


106  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 


THE  CURE 

|OU  may  talk  of  reformations,  of  the 

Economic  Plan, 
That  shall  stem  the  Social  Evil  in 

its  course; 
But    the    Ancient    Sin    of    nations, 

must  be  got  at  in  THE  MAN. 
If  you  want  to  cleanse  a  river,  seek  the  source. 

Ever  since  his  first  beginning,  Man  has  had  his 

way  in  lust. 

He  has  never  learned  the  law  of  Self-Control ; 
And  the  World  condones  his  sinning,  and  the 

Doctors  say  he  must, 

And  the  Churches  shut  their  eyes,  and  take 
his  toll. 

And  the  lauded  'Lovely  Mothers'  send  the  son 

out  into  life 

With   no  knowledge-welded  armour  for  the 
fight; 


THE  CUBE  107 

'He  will  make  his  way  like  others,  through  the 

Oat  field,  to  the  Wife'; 

'He  will  somehow  be  led  onward,  to  the  light/ 
Yes,  his  leaders,  they  shall  find  him.     On  the 

highways  at  each  turn; 
(Since  you  did  not  choose  to  counsel  or  to 

warn, ) 
They  shall  tempt  him,  then  shall  bind  him ;  they 

shall  blight,  and  they  shall  burn, 
Down  to  offspring  and  descendants  yet  un 
born. 

It  can  never   end  through  preaching;   it  can 

never  end  through  laws; 
This  social  sore,  no  punishment  can  heal. 
It  must  be  the  mother's  teaching  of  the  purpose, 

and  the  cause, 
And  God's  glory,  lying  under  sex  appeal. 

She  must  feel  no  fear  to  name  it  to  the  children 

it  has  brought; 

She  must  speak  of  it  as  sacred,  and  sublime; 
She  must  beautify,  not  shame  it,  by  her  speech 

and  by  her  thought; 
Till  they  listen,  and  respect  it,  for  all  time. 


108  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

From  the  heart  they  rested  under  ere  they  saw 

the  light  of  day, 
Must  the  daughters  and  the  sons  be  taught 

this  truth; 
Till  they  think  of  it  with  wonder,  as  a  holy 

thing  alway; 

While    love's    wisdom    guides    them    safely 
through  their  youth. 

Oh,    the   world  has   made   its   devil,   and   the 

Mothers  let  it  grow; 
And   the   Man  has   dragged   their   thoughts 

down  to  the  earth. 
There  will  be  no  Social  Evil,  when  each  waking 

mind  shall  know 
All  the  grandeur  and  the  beauty  hid  in  birth. 

When  each  Mother  sets  the  fashion  to  win  con 
fidence,  and  trust, 

And  to  teach  the  mighty  lesson,  Self-Control ; 
We  can  lift  the  great  Sex  passion  from  the 

darkness  and  the  dust, 
And  enshrine  it  on  the  altar  of  the  soul. 


THE  CREED  109 


THE  CREED 

HOEVER  was  begotten  by  pure  love, 
And  came  desired  and  welcomed  into 

life, 

Is   of   immaculate    conception.     He 
Whose  heart  is  full  of  tenderness  and 

truth, 

Who  loves  mankind  more  than  he  loves  himself, 
And  cannot  find  room  in  his  heart  for  hate, 
May  be  another  Christ.   We  all  may  be 
The  Saviours  of  the  world,  if  we  believe 
In  the  Divinity  which  dwells  in  us 
And  worship  it,  and  nail  our  grosser  selves, 
Our  tempers,  greeds,  and  our  unworthy  aims, 
Upon  the  cross.  Who  giveth  love  to  all, 
Pays  kindness  for  unkindness,  smiles  for  frowns, 
And  lends  new  courage  to  each  fainting  heart, 
And  strengthens  hope  and  scatters  joy  abroad, 
He,  too,  is  a  Redeemer,  Son  of  God. 


110 


POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  HEIGHTS 

CRIED,  'Dear  Angel,  lead  me  to  the 

heights, 

And  spur  me  to  the  top.' 
The  Angel  answered,  'Stop 
And  set  thy  house  in  order;  make 

it  fair 

For  absent  ones  who  may  be  speeding  there; 
Then  will  we  talk  of  heights.' 

I  put  my  house  in  order.    '  Now  lead  on ! ' 

The  Angel  said,  'Not  yet; 

Thy  garden  is  beset 

By  thorns  and  tares;  go  weed  it,  so  all  those 
Who  come  to  gaze  may  find  the  unvexed  rose; 

Then  will  we  journey  on.' 

I  weeded  well  my  garden.    'All  is  done.' 

The  Angel  shook  his  head. 

'A  beggar  stands/  he  said, 
'  Outside  thy  gates ;  till  thou  hast  given  heed 


THE   HEIGHTS  111 

And  soothed  his  sorrow,  and  supplied  his  need, 
Say  not  that  all  is  done.' 

The  beggar  left  me  singing.     'Now  at  last — 

At  last  the  path  is  clear.' 

'Nay,  there  is  one  draws  near 
Who  seeks,  like  thee,  the  difficult  highway. 
He  lacks  thy  courage;  cheer  him  through  the 
day; 

Then  will  we  cry,  "At  last!"  ' 

I  helped  my  weaker  brother.   '  Now  the  heights ; 

Oh,  Guide  me,  Angel,  guide!' 

The  Presence  at  my  side, 
With  radiant  face,  said,  'Look,  where  are  we 

now?' 
And  lo !  we  stood  upon  the  mountain 's  brow — 

The  heights,  the  shining  heights! 


112  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


A  MAN'S  IDEAL 

LOVELY  little  keeper  of  the  home, 
Absorbed  in  menu  books,  yet  erudite 
When  I  need  counsel;  quick  at 

repartee 
And   slow   to   anger.     Modest   as   a 

flower, 

Yet  scintillant  and  radiant  as  a  star. 
Unmercenary  in  her  mould  of  mind, 
While  opulent  and  dainty  in  her  tastes. 
A  nature  generous  and  free,  albeit 
The  incarnation  of  economy. 
She  must  be  chaste  as  proud  Diana  was, 
Yet  warm  as  Venus.    To  all  others  cold 
As  some  white  glacier  glittering  in  the  sun; 
To  me  as  ardent  as  the  sensuous  rose 
That  yields  its  sweetness  to  the  burrowing  bee. 
All  ignorant  of  evil  in  the  world, 
And  innocent  as  any  cloistered  nun, 
Yet  wise  as  Phryne  in  the  arts  of  love 
When  I  come  thirsting  to  her  nectared  lips. 
Good  as  the  best,  and  tempting  as  the  worst, 
A  saint,  a  siren,  and  a  paradox. 


THE  RIVER 


113 


THE  RIVER 

AM  a  river  flowing  from  God's  sea 
Through  devious  ways.     He  mapped 

my  course  for  me ; 
I  cannot  change  it;  mine  alone  the 

toil 

To  keep  the  waters  free  from  grime  and  soil. 
The  winding  river  ends  where  it  began; 
And  when  my  life  has  compassed  its  brief  span 
I  must  return  to  that  mysterious  source. 
So  let  me  gather  daily  on  my  course 
The  perfume  from  the  blossoms  as  I  pass; 
Balm   from  the   pines,   and  healing  from   the 

grass; 

And  carry  down  my  current  as  I  go 
Not  common  stones  but  precious  gems  to  show. 
And  tears  (the  holy  water  from  sad  eyes) 
Back  to  God's  sea,  from  which  all  rivers  rise, 
Let  me  convey,  not  blood  from  wounded  hearts 
Nor  poison  which  the  upas  tree  imparts. 
When  over  flowery  vales  I  leap  with  joy, 


114  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Let  me  not  devastate  them,  nor  destroy, 
But  rather  leave  them  fairer  to  the  sight; 
Mine  be  the  lot  to  comfort  and  delight. 
And  if  down  awful  chasms  I  needs  must  leap, 
Let  me  not  murmur  at  my  lot,  but  sweep 
On  bravely  to  the  end  without  one  fear, 
Knowing  that  He  who  planned  my  ways  stands 

near. 

Love  sent  me  forth,  to  Love  I  go  again, 
For  Love  is  all,  and  over  all.    Amen. 


UNANSWEEED  PEAYEES  115 


UNANSWERED  PRAYERS 

|IKE  some  schoolmaster,  kind  in  being 

stern, 
Who  hears  the  children  crying  o'er 

their  slates 
And  calling,  'Help  me,  master!'  yet 

helps  not, 

Since  in  his  silence  and  refusal  lies 
Their  self-development,  so  God  abides 
Unheeding  many  prayers.     He  is  not  deaf 
To  any  cry  sent  up  from  earnest  hearts; 
He  hears  and  strengthens  when  He  must  deny. 
He  sees  us  weeping  over  life's  hard  sums; 
But  should  He  give  the  key  and  dry  our  tears, 
What  would  it  profit  us  when  school  were  done 
And  not  one  lesson  mastered? 

What  a  world 

Were  this  if  all  our  prayers  were  answered.  Not 
In  famed  Pandora's  box  were  such  vast  ills 
As  lie  in  human  hearts.    Should  our  desires, 


116  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Voiced  one  by  one  in  prayer,  ascend  to  God 
And  come  back  as  events  shaped  to  our  wish, 
What  chaos  would  result! 

In  my  fierce  youth 

I  sighed  out  breath  enough  to  move  a  fleet, 
Voicing  wild  prayers  to  heaven  for  fancied  boons 
Which  were  denied;  and  that  denial  bends 
My  knee  to  prayers  of  gratitude  each  day 
Of  my  maturer  years.    Yet  from  those  prayers 
I  rose  alway  regirded  for  the  strife 
And  conscious  of  new  strength.    Pray  on,  sad 

heart, 

That  which  thou  pleadest  for  may  not  be  given, 
But  in  the  lofty  altitude  where  souls 
Who  supplicate  God's  grace  are  lifted,  there 
Thou  shalt  find  help  to  bear  thy  daily  lot 
Which  is  not  elsewhere  found. 


ILLUSION  117 


ILLUSION 

|OD  and  I  in  space  alone 

And  nobody  else  in  view. 
'And  where  are  the  people,  0  Lord,' 

I  said, 
'  The  earth  below,  and  the  sky  o  'er- 

head, 
And  the  dead  whom  once  I  knew?' 

'  That  was  a  dream, '  God  smiled  and  said — 

'A  dream  that  seemed  to  be  true. 
There  were  no  people,  living  or  dead, 
There  was  no  earth,  and  no  sky  o'erhead; 
There  was  only  Myself — in  you.' 

'Why  do  I  feel  no  fear,'  I  asked, 

'Meeting  You  here  this  way? 
For  I  have  sinned  I  know  full  well! 
And  is  there  heaven,  and  is  there  hell, 

And  is  this  the  judgment  day?' 


118  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

1  Nay,  those  were  but  dreams/  the  Great  God 
said, 

'Dreams,  that  have  ceased  to  be. 
There  are  no  such  things  as  fear  or  sin, 
There  is  no  you — you  never  have  been — 

There  is  nothing  at  all  but  Me.' 


TEE  BIETH  OF  JEALOUSY  119 


THE  BIRTH  OF  JEALOUSY 

TTH  brooding  mien  and  sultry  eyes, 
Outside  the  gates  of  Paradise 
Eve  sat,  and  fed  the  faggot  flame 
That    lit    the    path    whence    Adam 

came. 
(Strange  are  the  workings  of  a  woman's  mind.) 

His  giant  shade  preceded  him, 
Along  the  pathway  green,  and  dim; 
She  heard  his  swift  approaching  tread, 
But  still  she  sat  with  drooping  head. 
(Dark  are  the  jungles  of  unhappy  thought.) 

He  kissed  her  mouth,  and  gazed  within 
Her  troubled  eyes ;  for  since  their  sin, 
His  love  had  grown  a  thousand  fold. 
But  Eve  drew  back;  her  face  was  cold. 
(Oh,  who  can  read  the  cipher  of  a  soul.) 

'Now  art  thou  mourning  still,  sweet  wife/ 
Spake  Adam  tenderly,  'the  life 


120  POEMS  OF  PBOBLEMS 

Of  our  lost  Eden?    Why,  in  thee 
All  Paradise  remains  for  me.' 
(Deep,   deep   the   currents  in  a  strong  man's 
heart.) 

Thus  Eve:   'Nay,  not  lost  Eden's  bliss 
I  mourn ;  for  heavier  woe  than  this 
Wears  on  me  with  one  thought  accursed. 
In  Adam's  life  I  am  not  first.' 
(0   woman's  mind!   what  hells  are   fashioned 
there.) 

'The  serpent  whispered  Lilith's  name: 
('Twas  thus  he  drove  me  to  my  shame) 
Pluck  yonder  fruit,  he  said,  and  know, 
How  Adam  loved  her,  long  ago.' 
(Fools,  fools,  who  wander  searching  after  pain.) 

'I  ate;  and  like  an  ancient  scroll, 

I  saw  that  other  life  unroll; 

I  saw  thee,  Adam,  far  from  here 

With  Lilith  on  a  wondrous  sphere.' 

(Bold,  bold,  the  daring  of  a  jealous  heart.) 

'Nay,  tell  me  not  I  dreamed  it  all; 
Last  night  in  sleep  thou  didst  let  fall 


TSE  BIETH  OF  JEALOUSY  121 

Her  name  in  tenderness;  I  bowed 
My  stricken  head  and  cried  aloud.' 
(Vast,  vast  the  torment  of  a  self-made  woe.) 

'And  it  was  then,  and  not  before, 
That  Eden  shut  and  barred  its  door. 
Alone  in  God's  great  world  I  seemed, 
Whilst  thou  of  thy  lost  Lilith  dreamed.' 
(Oh,  who  can  measure  such  wide  loneliness.) 

'Now  every  little  breeze  that  sings, 

Sighs  Lilith,  like  thy  whisperings. 

Oh,  where  can  sorrow  hide  its  face, 

When  Lilith,  Lilith,  fills  all  space?' 

(And  Adam  in  the  darkness  spake  no  word.) 


122  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


GOD'S  MEASURE 

IOD  measures  souls  by  their  capacity 
For    entertaining    his    best    Angel, 

Love. 
Who  loveth  most  is  nearest  kin  to 

God, 
Who  is  all  Love,  or  Nothing. 

He  who  sits 

And  looks  out  on  the  palpitating  world, 
And  feels  his  heart  swell  in  him  large  enough 
To  hold  all  men  within  it,  he  is  near 
His  great  Creator's  standard,  though  he  dwells 
Outside  the  pale  of  churches,  and  knows  not 
A  feast-day  from  a  fast-day,  or  a  line 
Of  Scripture  even.    What  God  wants  of  us 
Is  that  outreaching  bigness  that  ignores 
All  littleness  of  aims,  or  loves,  or  creeds, 
And  clasps  all  Earth  and  Heaven  in  its  embrace. 


A  BALLADE  OF  THE  UNBORN  DEAD  123 


A   BALLADE   OF   THE   UNBORN 
DEAD 

|HEY  walked  the  valley  of  the  dead; 

Lit  by  a  weird  half  light ; 
No  sound  they  made,  no  word  they 

said; 

And  they  were  pale  with  fright. 
Then  suddenly  from  unseen  places  came 
Loud  laughter,  that  was  like  a  whip  of  flame. 

They  looked,  and  saw,  beyond,  above, 
A  land  where  wronged  souls  wait; 

(Those  spirits  called  to  earth  by  love, 
And  driven  back  by  hate). 

And  each  one  stood  in  anguish  dumb  and  wild, 

As  she  beheld  the  phantom  of  her  child. 

Yea,  saw  the  soul  her  wish  had  hurled 

Out  into  night  and  death; 
Before  it  reached  the  Mother  world, 

Or  drew  its  natal  breath. 


124  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

And  terrified,  each  hid  her  face  and  fled 
Beyond  the  presence  of  her  unborn  dead. 

And  God's  Great  Angel,  who  provides 

Souls  for  our  mortal  land, 
Laughed,  with  the  laughter  that  derides, 

At  that  fast  fleeting  band 
Of  self-made  barren  women  of  the  earth. 
(Hell  has  no  curse  that  withers  like  such  mirth.) 

'0  Angel,  tell  us  who  were  they, 

That  down  below  us  fared; 
Those  shapes  with  faces  strained  and  grey, 

And  eyes  that  stared  and  stared; 
Something  there  was  about  them,  gave  us  fear ; 
Yet  are  we  lonely,  now  they  are  not  here.' 

Thus  spake  the  spectral  children;  thus 

The  Angel  made  reply: 
'They  have  no  part  or  share  with  us; 

They  were  but  passers-by.' 
'But  may  we  pray  for  them?'  the  phantoms 

plead. 

'Yea,  for  they  need  your  prayers,'  the  Angel 
said. 


A  BALLADE  OF  THE  UNBORN  DEAD  125 

They  went  upon  their  lonely  way; 

(Far,  far  from  Paradise) ; 
Their  path  was  lit  with  one  wan  ray 

From  ghostly  children's  eyes; 
The  little  children  who  were  never  born; 
And  as  they  passed,  the  Angel  laughed  in  scorn. 


126  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


TO  MEN 

IRS,  when  you  pity  us,  I  say 
You  waste  your  pity.    Let  it  stay, 
"Well  corked  and  stored  upon  your 

shelves, 
Until  you  need  it  for  yourselves. 

We  do  appreciate  God's  thought 
In  forming  you,  before  He  brought 
Us  into  life.    His  art  was  crude, 
But  oh,  so  virile  in  its  rude 

Large  elemental  strength:  and  then 
He  learned  His  trade  in  making  men; 
Learned  how  to  mix  and  mould  the  clay 
And  fashion  in  a  finer  way. 

How  fine  that  skilful  way  can  be 
You  need  but  lift  your  eyes  to  see ; 
And  we  are  glad  God  placed  you  there 
To  lift  your  eyes  and  find  us  fair. 


TO  MEN  127 

Apprentice  labour  though  you  were, 
He  made  you  great  enough  to  stir 
The  best  and  deepest  depths  of  us, 
And  we  are  glad  He  made  you  thus. 

Ay!  we  are  glad  of  many  things. 
God  strung  our  hearts  with  such  fine  strings 
The  least  breath  moves  them,  and  we  hear 
Music  where  silence  greets  your  ear. 

We  suffer  so?  but  women's  souls, 
Like  violet  powder  dropped  on  coals, 
Give  forth  their  best  in  anguish.    Oh, 
The  subtle  secrets  that  we  know, 

Of  joy  in  sorrow,  strange  delights 
Of  ecstasy  in  pain-filled  nights, 
And  mysteries  of  gain  in  loss 
Known  but  to  Christ  upon  the  Cross! 

Our  tears  are  pitiful  to  you? 
Look  how  the  heaven-reflecting  dew 
Dissolves  its  life  in  tears.    The  sand 
Meanwhile  lies  hard  upon  the  strand. 

How  could  your  pity  find  a  place 
For  us,  the  mothers  of  the  race? 


128  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Men  may  be  fathers  unaware, 
So  poor  the  title  is  you  wear, 

But  mothers ?  who  that  crown  adorns 

Knows  all  its  mingled  blooms  and  thorns; 
And  she  whose  feet  that  path  hath  trod 
Has  walked  upon  the  heights  with  God. 

No,  offer  us  not  pity's  cup. 
There  is  no  looking  down  or  up 
Between  us:  eye  looks  straight  in  eye: 
Born  equals,  so  we  live  and  die. 


EEINCAENATION  129 


REINCARNATION 


|E  slept  as  weary  toilers  do, 

She  gazed  up  at  the  moon. 
He    stirred   and   said,    'Wife,    come 
to  bed'; 

She  answered,  'Soon,  full  soon.' 
(Oh!   that  strange   mystery   of   the 
dead  moon's  face.) 

Her  cheek  was  wan,  her  wistful  mouth 

Was  lifted  like  a  cup : 
The  moonful  night  dripped  liquid  light: 

She  seemed  to  quaff  it  up. 
(Oh!  that  unburied  corpse  that  lies  in  space.) 

Her  life  had  held  but  drudgery — 

She  spelled  her  Bible  thro; 
Of  books  and  lore  she  knew  no  more 

Than  little  children  do. 
(Oh!  the  weird  wonder  of  that  pallid  sphere.) 

Her  youth  had  been  a  loveless  waste, 
Starred  by  no  holiday. 


130  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

And  she  had  wed  for  roof,  and  bread; 

She  gave  her  work  in  pay. 
( Oh !  the  moon-memories,  vague  and  strange  and 
dear.) 

She  drank  the  night's  insidious  wine, 

And  saw  another  scene: 
A  stately  room — rare  flowers  in  bloom, 

Herself  in  silken  sheen. 
(Oh!  vast  the  chambers  of  the  moon,  and  wide.) 

A  step  drew  near,  a  curtain  stirred; 

She  shook  with  sweet  alarms. 
Oh!  splendid  face;  oh!  manly  grace; 

Oh!  strong  impassioned  arms. 
( Oh !  silent  moon,  what  secrets  do  you  hide ! ) 

The  warm  red  lips  of  thirsting  love 

On  cheek  and  brow  were  pressed; 
As  the  bees  know  where  honeys  grow, 

They  sought  her  mouth,  her  breast. 
(Oh !  the  dead  moon  holds  many  a  dead  delight.) 

The  sleeper  stirred  and  gruffly  spake, 
'Come,  wife,  where  have  you  been?' 

She  whispered  low,  'Dear  God,  I  go — 
But  'tis  the  seventh  sin.' 

(Oh,  the  sad  secrets  of  that  orb  of  white.) 


RECRIMINATION  131 


RECRIMINATION 

i 
AID   Life   to   Death,    'Methinks    if    I 

were  you 
I  would  not  carry  such  an  awesome 

face 

To  terrify  the  helpless  human  race. 
And  if,  indeed,  those  wondrous  tales  be  true 
Of  happiness  beyond,  and  if  I  knew 
About  the  boasted  blessings  of  that  place, 
I  would  not  hide  so  miserly  all  trace 
Of  my  vast  knowledge,  Death,  if  I  were  you. 
But  like  a  glorious  angel  I  would  lean 
Above  the  pathway  of  each  sorrowing  soul, 
Hope  in  my  eyes,  and  comfort  in  my  breath, 
And  strong  conviction  in  my  radiant  mien, 
The  while  I  whispered  of  that  beauteous  goal. 
This  would  I  do,  if  I  were  you,  0  Death!' 

ii 

Said  Death  to  Life,  ( If  I  were  you,  my  friend, 
I  would  not  lure  confiding  souls  each  day 


132  POEMS  OF  PBOBLEMS 

With  fair  false  smiles,  to  enter  on  a  way 
So  filled  with  pain  and  trouble  to  the  end. 
I  would  not  tempt  those  whom  I  should  defend, 
Nor  stand  unmoved  and  see  them  go  astray. 
Nor  would  I  force  unwilling  souls  to  stay 
Who  longed  for  freedom,  were  I  you,  my  friend. 
But  like  a  tender  mother  I  would  take 
The  weary  world  upon  my  sheltering  breast 
And  wipe  away  its  tears,  and  soothe  its  strife. 
I  would  fulfill  my  promises,  and  make 
My  children  bless  me  as  they  sank  to  rest 
Where  now  they  curse — if  I  were  you,  0  Life ! ' 

m 

Life  made  no  answer ;  and  Death  spoke  again : 

'I  would  not  woo  from  God's  sweet  nothingness 

A  soul  to  being,  if  I  could  not  bless 

And  crown  it  with  all  joy.    If  unto  men 

My  face  seems  awesome,  tell  me,  Life,  why  then 

Do  they  pursue  me,  mad  for  my  caress, 

Believing  in  my  silence  lies  redress 

For  your  loud  falsehoods?'    (So  Death  spoke 

again.) 

'  Oh,  it  is  well  for  you  I  am  not  fair, 
Well  that  I  hide  behind  a  voiceless  tomb 


RECRIMINATION  133 

The  mighty  secrets  of  that  other  place. 
Else  would  you  stand  in  impotent  despair 
While  unfledged  souls  straight  from  the  mother 's 

womb 
Rushed  to  my  arms,  and  spat  upon  your  face. ' 


134  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  GULF  STREAM 

KILLED   mariner,    and  counted   sane 

and  wise, 
That    was    a    curious    thing    which 

chanced  to  me, 
So  good  a  sailor  on  so  fair  a  sea. 
With   favouring   winds    and  blue   unshadowed 

skies, 

Led  by  the  faithful  beacon  of  Love's  eyes, 
Past  reef  and  shoal,  my  life-boat  bounded  free 
And  fearless  of  all  changes  that  might  be 
Under  calm  waves,  where  many  a  sunk  rock  lies. 

A  golden  dawn;  yet  suddenly  my  barque 
Strained  at  the  sails,  as  in  a  cyclone 's  blast, 

And  battled  with  an  unseen  current's  force : 
For  we  had  entered  when  the  night  was  dark 
That   old   tempestuous   Gulf   Stream   of   the 

Past. 

But  for  love's   eyes,   I  had  not  kept  the 
course. 


A  MINOR  CHORD  135 


A  MINOR  CHORD 

HEARD    a   strain   of   music   in   the 

street — 
A  wandering  waif  of  sound.      And 

then  straightway 
A  nameless  desolation  filled  the  day. 
The  great  green  earth  that  had  been  fair  and 

sweet, 

Seemed  but  a  tomb ;  the  life  I  thought  replete 
With  joy,  grew  lonely  for  a  vanished  May. 
Forgotten  sorrows  resurrected  lay 
Like  bleaching  skeletons  about  my  feet. 

Above  me  stretched  the  silent,  suffering  sky, 
Dumb  with  vast  anguish  for  departed  suns 

That  brutal  Time  to  nothingness  has  hurled. 
The  daylight  was  as  sad  as  smiles  that  lie 
Upon  the  wistful,  unkissed  mouths  of  nuns, 
And  I  stood  prisoned  in  an  awful  world. 


136  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 


THE  SQUANDERER 

|OD  gave  him  passions,  splendid  as  the 

sun, 
Meant  for  the  lordliest  purposes;  a 

part 
Of  nature's  full  and  fertile  mother 

heart, 
From  which  new  systems  and  new  stars   are 

spun. 

And  now,  behold,  behold,  what  he  has  done! 
In  Folly's  court  and  carnal  Pleasures'  mart 
He  flung  the  wealth  life  gave  him  at  the  start. 
(This,  of  all  mortal  sins,  the  deadliest  one.) 

At  dawn  he  stood,  potential,  opulent, 
With  virile  manhood,  and  emotions  keen, 
And  wonderful  with  God's  creative  fire. 
At  noon  he  stands,  with  Love's  large  fortune 

spent 

In  petty  traffic,  unproductive,  mean — 
A  pauper,  cursed  with  impotent  desire. 


PREPARATION  137 


PREPARATION 

E   must  not  force  events,  but  rather 

make 

The  heart  soil  ready  for  their  com 
ing,  as 
The   earth   spreads  carpets   for  the 

feet  of  Spring, 

Or,  with  the  strengthening  tonic  of  the  frost, 
Prepares  for  winter.     Should  a  July  noon 
Burst  suddenly  upon  a  frozen  world 
Small  joy  would  follow,  even  though  that  world 
Were  longing  for  the  Summer.  Should  the  sting 
Of  sharp  December  pierce  the  heart  of  June, 
What  death  and  devastation  would  ensue! 
All   things   are   planned.      The   most   majestic 

sphere 
That    whirls   through    space    is    governed    and 

controlled 

By  supreme  law,  as  is  the  blade  of  grass 
Which  through  the  bursting  bosom  of  the  earth 
Creeps  up  to  kiss  the  light.    Poor,  puny  man 
Alone  doth  strive  and  battle  with  the  Force 


138  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Which  rules  all  lives  and  worlds,  and  he  alone 
Demands  effect  before  producing  cause. 
How  vain  the  hope !  We  cannot  harvest  joy 
Until  we  sow  the  seed,  and  God  alone 
Knows  when  that  seed  has  ripened.  Oft  we  stand 
And  watch  the  ground  with  anxious,  brooding 

eyes, 

Complaining  of  the  slow,  unfruitful  yield, 
Not  knowing  that  the  shadow  of  ourselves 
Keeps  off  the  sunlight  and  delays  result. 
Sometimes  our  fierce  impatience  of  desire 
Doth  like  a  sultry  May  force  tender  shoots 
Of  half-formed  pleasures  and  unshaped  events 
To  ripen  prematurely,  and  we  reap 
But  disappointment;  or  we  rot  the  germs 
With  briny  tears  ere  they  have  time  to  grow. 
While  stars  are  born  and  mighty  planets  die 
And  hissing  comets  scorch  the  brow  of  space, 
The  Universe  keeps  its  eternal  calm. 
Through  patient  preparation,  year  on  year, 
The  earth  endures  the  travail  of  the  Spring 
And  Winter's  desolation.     So  our  souls 
In  grand  submission  to  a  higher  law 
Should  move  serene  through  all  the  ills  of  life 
Believing  them  masked  joys. 


SIEIUS  139 


SIRIUS 

'Since  Sirius  crossed  the  Milky  Way,  sixty  thousand 
years  have  gone. ' — GARRETT  P.  SERVISS. 

INGE  Sirius  crossed  the  Milky  Way 
Full  sixty  thousand  years  have  gone ; 
Yet  hour  by  hour,  and  day  by  day, 
This  tireless  star  speeds  on  and  on. 

Methinks  he  must  be  moved  to  mirth 

By  that  droll  tale  of  Genesis, 
Which  says  creation  had  its  birth 

For  such  a  puny  world  as  this. 

To  hear  how  One  who  fashioned  all 
Those  Solar  Systems,  tier  on  tiers, 

Expressed  in  little  Adam's  fall 
The  purpose  of  a  million  spheres. 

And,  witness  of  the  endless  plan, 

To  splendid  wrath  he  must  be  wrought 


140  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

By  pigmy  creeds  presumptuous  man 
Sends  forth  as  God's  primeval  thought. 

Perchance  from  half  a  hundred  stars 
He  hears  as  many  curious  things; 

From  Venus,  Jupiter,  and  Mars, 
And  Saturn  with  the  beauteous  rings, 

There  may  be  students  of  the  Cause 
Who  send  their  revelations  out, 

And  formulate  their  codes  of  laws, 
With  heavens  for  faith  and  hells  for  doubt. 

On  planets  old  ere  form  or  place 

Was  lent"  to  earth,  may  dwell — who  knows — 
A  God-like  and  perfected  race 

That  hails  great  Sirius  as  he  goes. 

In  zones  that  circle  moon  and  sun, 

'Twixt  world  and  world,  he  may  see  souls 

Whose  span  of  earthly  life  is  done, 
Still  journeying  up  to  higher  goals. 

And  on  dead  planets  grey  and  cold 

Grim  spectral  souls,  that  harboured  hate 

Life  after  life,  he  may  behold 
Descending  to  a  darker  fate. 


SIBIU8  141 

And  on  his  grand  majestic  course 
He  may  have  caught  one  glorious  sight 

Of  that  vast  shining  central  Source 
From  which  proceeds  all  Life,  all  Light. 

Since  Sirius  crossed  the  Milky  "Way 
Full  sixty  thousand  years  have  gone ; 

No  mortal  man  may  bid  him  stay, 
No  mortal  man  may  speed  him  on. 

No  mortal  mind  may  comprehend 
What  is  beyond,  what  was  before; 

To  God  be  glory  without  end, 
Let  man  be  humble  and  adore. 


142  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


REMEMBERED 

IS  art  was  loving ;  Eros  set  his  sign 
Upon  that  youthful  forehead,  and  he 

drew 
The    hearts   of  women,    as   the   sun 

draws  dew. 
Love  feeds  love's  thirst  as  wine  feeds  love  of 

wine; 

Nor  is  there  any  potion  from  the  vine 
Which  makes  men  drunken  like   the  subtle 

brew 

Of  kisses  crushed  by  kisses ;  and  he  grew 
Inebriated  with  that  draught  divine. 

Yet  in  his  sober  moments,  when  the  sun 
Of  radiant  summer  paled  to  lonely  fall, 
And  passion's  sea  had   grown   an   ebbing 

tide; 

From  out  the  many,  Memory  singled  one 
Full  cup  that  seemed  the  sweetest  of  them 

all— 

The  warm  red  mouth  that  mocked  him  and 
denied. 


THE  CALL  143 


THE  CALL 

N  the  banquet  hall  of  Progress 
God  has  bidden  to  a  feast 
All  the  women  in  the  East. 


Some  have  said,  *  We  are  not  ready ,- 
We  must  wait  another  day.' 
Some,  with  voices  clear  and  steady, 
'Lord,  we  hear,  and  we  obey/ 

Others,  timid  and  uncertain, 

Step  forth  trembling  in  the  light. 

Many  hide  behind  the  curtain 
With  their  faces  hid  from  sight. 

In  the  banquet  hall  of  Progress 
All  must  gather  soon  or  late, 
And  the  patient  Host  will  wait. 

If  to-day  or  if  to-morrow, 
If  in  gladness,  or  in  woe, 


144  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

If  with  pleasure,  or  with  sorrow, 
All  must  answer,  all  must  go. 

They  must  go  with  unveiled  faces, 
Clothed  in  virtue  and  in  pride. 

For  the  Host  has  set  their  places, 
And  He  will  not  be  denied. 


THE  AWAKENING  145 


THE  AWAKENING 

LOVE  the  tropics,  where  sun  and  rain 
Go  forth  together,  a  joyous  train, 
To  hold  up  the  green,  gay  side  of  the 

world, 
And  to  keep  earth's  banners  of  bloom 

unfurled. 

I  love  the  scents  that  are  hidden  there 
By  housekeeper  Time,  in  her  chests  of  air: 
Strange  and  subtle  and  all  arife 
With  vague  lost  dreams  of  a  bygone  life. 

They  steal  upon  you  by  night  and  day, 
But  never  a  whiff  can  you  take  away : 
And  never  a  song  of  a  tropic  bird 
Outside  of  its  palm-decked  land  is  heard. 

And  nowhere  else  can  you  know  the  sweet 
Soft  'joy-in-nothing'  that  comes  with  the  heat 
Of  tropic  regions.    And  yet,  and  yet, 

If  in  evergreen  worlds  my  way  were  set 
10 


146  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

I  would  span  the  waters  of  widest  seas 

To  see  the  wonder  of  waking  trees ; 

To  feel  the  shock  of  sudden  delight 

That  comes  when  the  orchard  has  changed  in  a 

night, 

From  the  winter  nun  to  the  bride  of  May, 
And  the  harp  of  Spring  is  attuned  to  play 
The  wedding  march,  and  the  sun  is  priest, 

And  the  world  is  bidden  to  join  the  feast. 

i 

Oh,  never  is  felt  in  a  tropic  clime, 
Where  the  singing  of  birds  is  a  ceaseless  chime, 
That  leap  o '  the  blood,  and  the  rapture  thrill, 
That  comes  to  us  here,  with  the  first  bird's  trill; 
And  only  the  eye  that  has  looked  on  snows 
Can  see  all  the  beauty  that  lies  in  a  rose. 
The  lure  of  the  tropics  I  understand, 
But  ho!  for  the  Spring  in  my  native  land. 


WHAT  LOVE  IS  147 


WHAT  LOVE  IS 

AHASUERAS 

|ELL  me  thy  name! 

ESTHER 

My  name,  great  sire,  is  Esther. 

AHASUERAS 

So  thou  art  Esther  ?   Esther !  'tis  a  name 
Breathed  into  sound  as  softly  as  a  sigh. 
A  woman's  name  should  melt  upon  the  lips 
Like  Love's  first  kisses,  and  thy  countenance 
Is  fit  companion  for  so  sweet  a  name! 

ESTHER 

Thou  art  most  kind.   I  would  my  name  and  face 
Were  mine  own  making  and  not  accident. 
Then  I  might  feel  elated  at  thy  praise, 
Where  now  I  feel  confusion. 

AHASUERAS 

Thou  hast  wit 
As  well  as  beauty,  Esther.   Both  are  gems 


148  POEMS  OF  PEOBLEMS 

That  do  embellish  woman  in  man's  sight. 
Yet  there  are  gems  of  second  magnitude! 
Dost  thou  possess  the  one  great  perfect  gem — 
The  matchless  jewel  of  the  world  called  lovef 

ESTHER 

Sire,  in  the  heart  of  every  woman  dwells 
That  wondrous  perfect  gem! 

AHASUERAS 

Then,  Esther,  speak! 

And  tell  me  what  is  love!    I  fain  would  know 
Thy  definition  of  that  much-mouthed  word, 
By  woman  most  employed — least  understood. 

ESTHER 

What  can  a  humble  Jewish  maiden  know 
That  would  instruct  a  warrior  and  a  king? 
I  have  but  dreamed  of  love  as  maidens  will, 
While  thou  hast  known  its  fulness.    All  the  world 
Loves  Great  Ahasueras! 

AHASUERAS 

All  the  world 

Fears  great  Ahasueras!   Kings,  my  child, 
Are  rarely  loved  as  anything  but  kings. 


WHAT  LOVE  IS  149 

Love,  as  I  see  it  in  the  court  and  camp, 
Means  seeking  royal  favour.    I  would  know 
How  love  is  fashioned  in  a  maiden's  dreams. 

ESTHER 

Sire,  love  seeks  nothing  that  kings  can  bestow. 
Love  is  the  king  of  all  things  here  below; 
Love  makes  the  monarch  but  a  bashful  boy, 
Love  makes  the  peasant  monarch  in  his  joy; 
Love  seeks  not  place,  all  places  are  the  same, 
When  lighted  by  the  radiance  of  love's  flame. 
Who  deems  proud  love  could  fawn  to  power  and 

splendour 
Hath    known    not    love,    but    some    base-born 

pretender. 

AHASUERAS 

If  this  be  love,  I  would  know  more  of  it. 
Speak  on,  fair  Esther!   What  is  love  beside? 

ESTHER 

Love  is  in  all  things,  all  things  are  in  love. 
Love  is  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  skies  above ; 
Love  is  the  bird,  the  blossom,  and  the  wind ; 
Love  hath  a  million  eyes,  yet  love  is  blind ; 


150  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 

Love  is  a  tempest,  awful  in  its  might ; 
Love  is  the  silence  of  a  moon-lit  night; 
Love  is  the  aim  of  every  human  soul; 
And  he  who  hath  not  loved  hath  missed  life's 
goal! 

AHASUERAS 

But  tell  me  of  thyself,  of  thine  own  dreams! 
How  wouldst  thou  love,  and  how  be  loved  again  ? 

ESTHER 

Who  most  doth  love  thinks  least  of  love 's  return ; 
She  is  content  to  feel  the  passion  burn 
In  her  own  bosom,  and  its  sacred  fire 
Consumes  each  selfish  purpose  and  desire. 
'Tis  in  the  giving,  love's  best  rapture  lies, 
Not  in  the  counting  of  the  things  it  buys. 

AHASUERAS 

Yet,  is  there  not  vast  anguish  and  despair 
In  love  that  finds  no  answering  word  or  smile? 

ESTHER 

So  radiant  is  love,  it  lends  a  glow 

To  each  dark  sorrow  and  to  every  woe. 

To  love  completely  is  to  part  with  pain, 


WHAT  LOVE  IS  151 

Nor  is  there  mortal  who  can  love  in  vain. 
Love  is  its  own  reward,  it  pays  full  measure, 
And  in  love 's  sharpest  grief  lies  subtlest  pleasure. 

AHASUERAS 

Methinks,  a  mighty  warrior,  lord  or  king 
Must  in  thy  fancy  play  the  lover's  part; 
None  else  could  wake  such  reverential  thought. 

ESTHER 

When  woman  loves  one  born  of  lowly  state, 
Her  thought  gives  crown  and  sceptre  to  her 

mate; 

Yet  be  he  king,  or  chief  of  some  great  clan, 
She  loves  him  but  as  woman  loves  a  man. 
Monarch  or  peasant,  'tis  the  same,  I  wis, 
When  once  she  gives  him  love's  surrendering 

kiss. 


152  POEMS  OF  PROBLEMS 


LOVE'S  SUPREMACY 

|S  yon  great  Sun  in  his  supreme  con 
dition 
Absorbs  small  worlds  and  makes 

them  all  his  own, 
So  does  my  love   absorb  each  vain 

ambition, 
Each    outside   purpose    which    my    life   has 

known. 
Stars   cannot   shine   so    near  that   vast   orb'd 

splendour ; 

They  are  content  to  feed  his  flames  of  fire : 
And  so  my  heart  is  satisfied  to  render 

Its  strength,  its  all,  to  meet  thy  strong  desire. 

As  in  a  forest  when  dead  leaves  are  falling 
Save  all  from  some  perennial  green  tree, 

So  one  by  one  I  find  all  pleasures  palling 
That  are  not  linked  with  or  enjoyed  by  thee. 

And  all  the  homage  that  the  world  may  proffer, 
I  take  as  perfumed  oils  or  incense  sweet, 


LOVE'S  SUPEEMACY  153 

And  think  of  it  as  one  thing  more  to  offer, 
And  sacrifice  to  Love,  at  thy  dear  feet. 

I  love  myself  because  thou  art  my  lover, 

My  name  seems  dear  since  uttered  by  thy 

voice ; 
Yet,  argus-eyed,  I  watch  and  would  discover 

Each  blemish  in  the  object  of  thy  choice. 
I  coldly  sit  in  judgment  on  each  error, 

To  my  soul's  gaze  I  hold  each  fault  of  me, 
Until  my  pride  is  lost  in  abject  terror, 

Lest  I  become  inadequate  to  thee. 

Like  some  swift-rushing  and  sea-seeking  river, 

Which  gathers  force  the  farther  on  it  goes, 
So  does  the  current  of  my  love  forever 

Find  added  strength  and  beauty  as  it  flows. 
The  more  I  give,  the  more  remains  for  giving, 

The  more  receive,  the  more  remains  to  win. 
Ah !  only  in  eternities  of  living 

Will  life  be  long  enough  to  love  thee  in. 


154  POEMS    OF   PROBLEMS 


PROTEST 

0  sin  by  silence,  when  we  should  pro 
test, 
Makes    cowards    out    of    men.     The 

human  race 
Has    climbed    on    protest.     Had    no 

voice  been  raised 

Against  injustice,  ignorance,  and  lust, 
The  inquisition  yet  would  serve  the  law, 
And  guillotines  decide  our  least  disputes. 
The  few  who  dare,  must  speak  and  speak  again 
To  right  the  wrongs  of  many.     Speech,  thank 

God, 

No  vested  power  in  this  great  day  and  land 
Can  gag  or  throttle.     Press  and  voice  may  cry 
Loud  disapproval  of  existing  ills; 
May  criticise  oppression  and  condemn 
The  lawlessness  of  wealth-protecting  laws 
That  let  the  children  and  childbearers  toil 
To  purchase  ease  for  idle  millionaires. 

Therefore  I  do  protest  against  the  boast 
Of  independence  in  this  mighty  land. 


PROTEST  155 

Call  no  chain  strong,  which  holds  one  rusted 

link. 

Call  no  land  free,  that  holds  one  fettered  slave. 
Until  the  manacled  slim  wrists  of  babes 
Are  loosed  to  toss  in  childish  sport  and  glee, 
Until  the  mother  bears  no  burden,  save 
The  precious  one  beneath  her  heart,  until 
God's  soil  is  rescued  from  the  clutch  of  greed 
And  given  back  to  labor,  let  no  man 
Call  this  the  land  of  freedom. 


156  POEMS   OF  PROBLEMS 


THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  IMMORTALITY 
HERE  hangs  a  picture  on  my  wall  • 
Three    leafless   trees;    dead   woods 

beyond ; 

Brown  grasses  and  a  marshy  pond  ; 
And  over  all 
An  amber  sunset  of  late  fall. 

Too  frail  the  artist  heart  to  cope 

With  all  the  stern  demands  of  fame. 
He  passed  before  he  won  a  name, 

Or  gained  his  hope, 

To  realms  where  dreams  have  larger  scope. 

Yet  in  the  modest  little  square 

Of  canvas,  that  I  daily  see 

He  left  a  legacy  to  me 
Of  something  rare; 
For  more  than  what  is  painted  there. 

For  tree  and  grass  and  sunset  sky 
Hold  subtler  qualities  than  art; 
It  is  the  painter's  pulsing  heart 


THE   TECHNIQUE   OF  IMMORTALITY  157 

That  seems  to  cry, 

"I  loved  these  things — they  cannot  die." 

And  so  they  live  to  stir  and  move 

Each  gazer's  soul;  because  they  speak 
Of  something  mightier  than  technique. 

They  live  to  prove 

The  immortality  of  love. 

They  speak  this  message  day  by  day ; 

"Love,  love  your  work,  or  small  or  great; 

Love,  love,  and  leave  the  rest  to  fate. 
For  love  will  stay 
When  all  things  else  have  passed  away." 


158 


POEMS   OF   PBOBLEMS 


I  WONDER 

BEAD  the  morning  news, 
Here  in  this  cosy  spot, 
And  life  seems  a  thing  most  sweet. 

I  wonder  would  I  meet 
The    coming    day    with    as    glad    a 

thought 
Had  I  toiled  all  night  till  the  break  of  the 

dawn 
That  the  world  might  know  what  is  going  on. 

I  read,  and  rest,  and  dream; 
Beside  the  glowing  grate. 
And  life  seems  warm  and  good. 

^1  wonder  if  it  would, 
Had  it  happened  that  mine  were  the  fate 

To  dig  like  a  worm  in  the  deep  dark  mold 
That  the  world  above  me  might  keep  off  cold. 

Out  on  the  deck  I  sit, 

While  the  ship  speeds  on  apace. 


I   WONDEE  159 

Oh,  life  is  a  joy  at  sea. 

I  wonder  would  it  be 
Had  it  happened  that  mine  were  the  place 

Down  in  the  hot  close  hold  of  the  boat 
To  stoke  the  engine  and  keep  it  afloat. 

On  the  flying  train  I  speed 

Off  for  a  holiday ; 
And  life  is  a  lazy  dream. 

I  wonder  how  it  would  seem 
If  I  sat  while  the  dark  night  paled  the  gray 

Watching  the  signals  with  eyes  astrain 
And  my  whole   thought  bent  on   guiding  the 
train. 

Guardian  angels  who  fill  sky  spaces, 
Unseen  Helpers  and  Spirit  Friends, 

Bless  all  the  toilers  in  humble  places 
On  whom  the  comfort  of  earth  depends. 

And  waken  the  heart  of  the  world  till  it  heed 
Their  cry  of  need. 


160  POEMS   OF   PROBLEMS 


OMNIPOTENCE 

at  times  on  this  vast  Universe, 
My  pigmy  self,  abashed  and  mor 
tified, 

In  patient  silence,   would  hence 
forth  abide, 

Nor  strive  with  its  poor  protest,  to  disperse 
The  seeming  shadows  from  our  one  small 

world. 
That  Power  which  fashioned  mountains,  shaped 

the  sea, 

And  into  space  a  million  planets  hurled, 
Could  have  no  need  of  any  aid  from  me. 

The  tiniest  seed,  what  mind  can  understand 
With  all  its  hidden  mysteries  of  bloom — 

The  whole  grand  system,  by  a  Master  planned, 
For  human  interference  leaves  no  room. 

All  things  move  onward  to  their  certain  goal; 
What  God  conceived,  God  only  can  control. 


OMNIPOTENCE  161 

Sudden  the  old  cry  breaks  upon  my  ear, 

The  protest  and  appeal  of  the  oppressed! 

Something  immortal  wakens  in  my  breast, 
And  answers  to  that  call,  ' '  I  hear,  I  hear ! ' ' 

The  burdens  of  the   suffering  world  seem 

mine 
And  mine  progression's  healthful  discontent. 

My  greater  self  proclaims  itself  divine — 
Knows  whence  it  came,  and  wherefore  it  was 
sent. 

When    the   first    ray   pierced    through   chaotic 
night 

My  spirit  was  conceived  by  primal  force, 
And  started  on  its  way  to  gather  light 

And  scatter  it  along  earth's  troubled  course. 
Kin  to  the  sun  and  sea  and  wind  and  sky, 

A  part  of  the  Omnipotence  am  I. 

I  am  important  to  the  perfect  plan, 

And  I  assist  the  purpose.     As  the  sun 
Completes  the  projects  by  the  cause  begun, 

So  His  intentions  are  worked  out  by  man. 

In  the  construction  of  a  great  machine 

The  smallest  parts  are  needed  by  the  whole; 
11 


162  POEMS   OF   PEOBLEMS 

The  mighty  wheel  is  held  by  bolts  unseen. 
So  in  God's  earth  there  is  no  useless  soul. 

We  are  the  means  to  some  majestic  end, 

Through  us  must  come  the  universal  good. 

In  us  the  forces  of  the  Maker  blend, 

On  us  depends  the  larger  brotherhood; 

With  us  mankind  must  journey  to  the  heights — 

Let  us  go  forth,  and  set  God 's  world  to  rights ! 


INTERLUDE  163 


INTERLUDE 

HE  days  grow  shorter,  the  nights  grow 

longer, 
The  headstones  thicken  along  the 

way; 
And  life  grows  sadder  but  love  grows 

stronger 
For  those  who  walk  with  us,  day  by  day. 

The  tear  comes  quicker,  the  laugh  comes  slower, 
The  courage  is  lesser  to  do  and  dare ; 

And  the  tide  of  joy  in  the  heart  runs  lower 
And  seldom  covers  the  reefs  of  care. 

But  all  true  things  in  the  world  seem  truer, 
And  the  better  things  of  the  earth  seem  best ; 

And  friends  are  dearer  as  friends  are  fewer, 
And  love  is  all  as  our  sun  dips  west. 

Then  let  us  clasp  hands  as  we  walk  together, 
And  let  us  speak  softly,  in  love 's  sweet  tone ; 

For  no  man  knows,  on  the  morrow,  whether 
We  two  pass  by,  or  but  one  alone. 


164  POEMS   OF   PEOBLEMS 


CONSUMMATION 

UST  when  all  hope  had  perished  in 

my  soul 
And    balked    desire    made    havoc 

with  my  mind, 
My    cruel    lady    suddenly    grew 

kind 

And  sent  these  written  words  upon  a  scroll : 
"When  knowing  Night  her  dusky  scarf  has  tied 
Across  the  bold  intrusive  eyes  of  Day 
Come  as  a  glad  triumphant  lover  may 
No  longer  fearing  that  he  be  denied. ' ' 

I  read  her  letter  for  the  hundredth  time; 

And  for  the  hundredth  time  my  gladdened 
sight 

Blurred  with  the  rapture  of  my  vast  delight 
And   swooned  upon   the   page.     I   caught   the 

chime 
Of  far  off  bells,  and  at  each  silvery  note 

My  heart  on  tip-toe,  pressed  its  eager  ear 

Against  my  breast;  it  was  such  joy  to  hear 
The  tolling  of  the  hour  of  which  she  wrote. 


CONSUMMATION  165 

The  curious  Day  still  lingered  in  the  skies 
And  watched  me,  as  I  hastened  to  the  tryst. 
But  back  beyond  great  clouds  of  amethyst 

I  saw  the  Night's  soft,  reassuring  eyes. 

' '  Oh,  Night ! "  I  cried,  ' '  dear  Love 's  considerate 

friend 

Haste  from  the  far  dim  valleys  of  the  west 
And  rock  this  fretful  world  to  peaceful  rest 

And  bid  the  Day's  insistent  vigil  end." 

Down  brooding  streets  and  past  the  harbored 

ships 
The    Night's    young    handmaid,    Twilight, 

walked  with  me. 

A  spent  moon  leaned  inertly  o'er  the  sea; 
A  few  pale  phantom  stars  were  in  eclipse. 
There  was  the  house,  my  Lady's  sea-girt  bower 
All  draped  in  gloom,  save  for  one  taper's 

glow 
Which  lit  the  path  where  willing  feet  would 

go: 
There  was  the  house,  and  this  the  promised  hour. 

The  tide  was  out,  and  from  the  sea's  salt  path 
Eose   amorous  odors,   filtering  through   the 

Night 
And  stirring  all  the  senses  to  delight. 


166  POEMS   OF  PEOBLEMS 

(Sweet  perfumes  left,  since  Aphrodite's  bath.) 
Back  in  the  wooded  copse,  a  whippoorwill 

Gave  love's  impassioned  and  impatient  call. 

On  languorous  sands  I  head  the  waves'  kiss 

fall 
And  fall  again,  so  hushed  the  hour  and  still. 

Light  was  my  knock  upon  the  door,  oh  light, 
And  yet  the  sound  seemed  rude.  My  pulses 

beat 

So   loud  they  drowned  the  coming  of  her 
feet. 

The  arrow  of  her  taper  pierced  the  gloom. 

The  portal  closed  behind  me.  She  was  there 
Love  on  her  lips  and  yielding  in  her  eyes 
And  but  the  sea  to  hear  our  vows  and  sighs 

She  took  my  hand  and  led  me  up  the  stair. 


TIME'S  GAZE  167 


TIME'S  GAZE 

IME    looked    me    in    the    eyes    while 

passing  by 
The    milestones   of   the   year.     That 

piercing  gaze 
"Was  both  an  accusation  and  reproach. 
No  speech  was  needed.     In  a  sorrow 
ing  look 

More  meaning  lies  than  in  complaining  words, 
And  silence  hurts  as  keenly  as  reproof. 

Oh,  opulent,  kind  giver  of  rich  hours, 
How  have  I  used  thy  benefits !    As  babes 
Unstring  a  necklace,  laughing  at  the  sound 
Of  priceless  jewels  dropping  one  by  one, 
So   I   have   laughed  while  precious  moment's 

rolled 

Into  the  hidden  corners  of  the  past. 
And  I  have  let  large  opportunities 
For  high  endeavour  move  unheeded  by, 
While    little    joys    and    cares    absorbed    my 

strength, 


168  POEMS   OF  PEOBLEMS 

And  yet,  dear  Time,  set  to  my  credit  this : 

Not  one  white  hour  have  I  made  black  with  hate, 

Nor  wished  one  living  creature  aught  but  good. 

Be  patient  with   me.     Though  the  sun  slants 

west, 

The  day  has  not  yet  finished,  and  I  feel 
Necessity  for  action  and  resolve 
Bear  in  upon  my  consciousness.    I  know 
The  earth's  eternal  need  of  earnest  souls, 
And  the  great  hunger  of  the  world  for  Love. 
I  know  the  goal  to  high  achievement  lies 
Through  the  dull  pathway  of  self -conquest  first ; 
And  on  the  stairs  of  little  duties  done 
We  climb  to  joys  that  stand  thy  test.     0  Time, 
Be  patient  with  me,  and  another  day, 
Perchance,  in  passing  by,  thine  eyes  may  smile. 


UNSATISFIED  169 


UNSATISFIED 

\HE  bird  flies  home  to  its  young; 
The  flower  folds  its  leaves  about  an 

opening  bud; 
And  in  my  neighbor's    house    there 

is  the  cry  of  a  child; 
I  close  my  window  that  I  need  not 

hear. 


She  is  mine  and  she  is  very  beautiful; 

And  in  her  heart  there  is  no  evil  thought. 

There  is  even  love  in  her  heart, 

Love  of  life,  love  of  joy,  love  of  this  fair  world 

And  love  of  me  (or  love  of  my  love  for  her)  ; 

Yet  she  will  never  consent  to  bear  me  a  child. 

And  when  I  speak  of  it  she  weeps; 

Always  she  weeps,  saying 

"Do  I  not  bring  joy  enough  into  your  life? 

Are  you  not  satisfied  with  me  and  my  love 

As  I  am  satisfied  with  you? 

Never  would  I  urge  you  to  some  great  peril 


170  POEMS    OF   PROBLEMS 

To  please  my  whim ;  yet  ever  so  you  urge  me ; 
Urge  me  to  risk  my  happiness,  yea  life  itself, 
So  lightly  do  you  hold  me. ' '  And  then  she  weeps 
Always  she  weeps  until  I  kiss  away  her  tears, 
And  soothe  her  with  sweet  lies,  saying  I  am 

content. 
Then  she  goes  singing  through  the  house  like 

some  bright  bird; 

Preening  her  wings;  making  herself  all  beau 
tiful; 

Perching  upon  my  knee,  and  pecking  at  my  lips 
With  little  kisses.     So  again  love's  ship 
Goes  sailing  forth  upon  a  portless  sea 
From  nowhere  into  nowhere ;  and  it  takes 
Or  brings  no  cargoes  to  enrich  the  world.    The 

years 

Are  passing  by  us.    "We  will  yet  be  old 
Who  now  are  young.    And  all  the  man  in  me 
Cries  for  the  reproduction  of  myself 
Through  her  I  love.    Why  love  and  youth  like 

ours, 

Could  populate  with  gods  and  goddesses 
This  great  green  earth,  and  give  the  race  new 

types 
Were  it  made  fruitful.    Often  I  can  see 


UNSATISFIED  171 

As  in  a  vision,  desolate  old  age 

And  loneliness  descending  on  us  two 

And  nowhere  in  the  world,  nowhere  beyond  the 

earth 

Fruit  of  my  loins  and  of  her  womb  to  feed 
Our  hungry  hearts.     To  me  it  seems 
More  sorrowful  than  sitting  by  small  graves 
And  wetting  sad  eyed  pansies  with  our  tears. 

The  bird  flies  home  to  its  young; 

The  flower  folds  its  leaves  about  an  opening  bud, 

And  in  my  neighbor's  house  there  is  the  cry  of 

a  child, 
I  close  my  window  that  I  need  not  hear. 


172  POEMS   OF   PEOBLEMS 


THE  ETERNAL  NOW 

IME  with  his  back  against  the  mighty 

wall 
Which     hides     from     view     the 

future's  joy  and  sorrow, 
Hears  without  answer  the  impatient 

call, 
Of  puny  man,  to  tell  him  of  tomorrow. 

Mortal  be  wise,  and  to  the  silence  bow; 

These  useless  and  unquiet  ways  forsaking, 
Concern  thyself  with  the  Eternal  Now; 

Today  holds  all  things  ready  for  thy  taking. 


THE   MILL  173 


THE  MILL 


Great  and  devastating  as  are  the  evils  connected  with 
child  and  woman  labor  in  mills  and  factories,  there  must 
be  many  a  man  and  woman  who  finds  happiness  in  the 
work  which  these  manufactories  afford. 

It  is  to  voice  the  feeling  which  such  toilers  experience, 
that  this  little  song  is  written.  And  it  is  sent  out  with 
confidence  that  it  will  be  understood  and  echoed  by  the 
optimistic  laborer  who  finds  in  his  work  a  means  of 
independence,  and  an  opportunity  for  the  development  of 
his  energies. 

OMETHING    there    is    in    the    mill 

whistle  blowing 
Sets  my  blood  flowing — 

Stirs  me  with  life. 
Gives  me  the  feeling  of  being  a  part 

of  it, 
Hand  of  it,  heart  of  it, 

Ready  to  plunge  in  the  thick  of  the  strife 
As  a  strong  swimmer  goes  when  the  seas  are 
rife. 

Many  have  said  there  was  pain  in  the  call  of  it ; 
I  get  the  thrall  of  it ; 

Nerved  and  made  strong, 


174  POEMS   OF   PROBLEMS 

My  hand  reaches  out  for  the  work  that  is  wait 
ing  it; 

Loving,  not  hating  it; 

Loving  the  noise,  and  the  rush,  and  the 
throng, 

Loving  the  days  as  they  hurry  along. 

Over  the  moil  and  the  murk  and  the  grime  in  it, 

Something  sublime  in  it, 
Calls  to  my  soul. 

Some  things  that  speak  of  the  ceaseless  en 
deavor 

For  aye  and  forever, 

Moving  the  Universe  on  to  its  goal, 

And  each  of  us  parcel  and  part  of  the  whole. 

Oh,  there  is  sorrow,  injustice  and  wrong  in  it; 

But  there's  a  song  in  it. 
All  day  I  hear 

Over  the  din  and  the  discord,  the  thrill  of  it, 

That's  the  brave  mill  of  it, 

Doing  its  work  without  worry  or  fear 
And  breathing  its  message  of  strength  in  my 
ear. 

Happy,  I  sing  to  it ; 
Smiling,  I  bring  to  it, 

Patience  and  love,  for  the  tasks  that  lie  near. 


A   WISH  175 


A  WISH 

REAT     dignity    ever    attends    great 

grief ; 

And  silently  walks  beside  it. 
And   I    always   know   when    I   meet 

such  woe, 

That  Invisible  Helpers  guide  it. 
And  I  know  deep  sorrow  is  like  a  tide, 

It  can  not  always  be  flowing 
The  high  water  mark  in  the  night  and  the  dark — 
Then  dawn,  and  the  outward  going. 

But  the  people  who  pull  at  my  heartstrings 

hard, 

Are  the  ones  whom  destiny  hurries 
Through  commonplace  ways,  to  the  end  of  their 

days 

And  pesters  with  paltry  worries. 
The   peddlers   who   trudge   with    a   budget   of 

wares 
To  the  door  that  is  slammed  unkindly; 


176  POEMS   OF   PROBLEMS 

The  vender  who  stands  with  his  shop  in  his 

hands 
Where  the  hastening  hosts  pass  blindly. 

The  woman  who  holds  in  her  poor  flat  purse, 

The  price  of  her  room  rent  only; 
While  her  starved  eye  feeds  on  the  comforts 

she  needs 

To  brighten  a  lot  that  is  lonely; 
The  man  in  the  desert  of  endless  work, 

Unsoftened  by  islands  of  leisure; 
And  the  children  who  toil  in  dust  and  soil, 
While  their  little  hearts  cry  for  pleasure. 

The  people  who  labor  and  scrimp  and  save, 

At  the  call  of  some  thankless  duty, 
And  carefully  hide  with  a  mantle  of  pride 

Their  ravening  hunger  for  beauty. 
These  ask  no  pity  and  seek  no  aid, 

But  the  thought  of  them  somehow  is  haunt 
ing; 
And  I  wish  I  might  fling  at  them  every  thing 

That  I  know  in  their  hearts  they  are  want 
ing. 


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